


Exit Strategy

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Miles Lydon/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Developing Relationship, Drunkenness, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Forgiveness, Future Fic, Male-Female Friendship, Morning After, New Orleans, Phil Coulson: human disaster, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skye is a hero, Skye teaches Coulson about jazz, Slow Dancing, Trip is made of sunshine, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lot of ust, sad attempts at plot, the Rising Tide - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all the lies Skye walks away from SHIELD.</p><p>Seven months later, while on a mission, Coulson catches up with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

Apparently Kaya _finally_ learned how to put the monitors inside the van the way she likes it.

Skye is a bit appalled at the notion that there's a certain way in which she likes the monitors arranged and that she is tyrannical enough to impose it on the others. Who the hell has she become? Someone who can do this, that's whom.

"We have a narrow window here," Skye is telling her team, following the suspect onscreen with the corner of her eye. "That douchebag must be really desperate if he is willing to show his face in public."

She knows she is overdoing it, playing the role of the confident leader, she's not a character straight out of a _CSI_ , she shouldn't try so hard. She draws her hand over her face for a moment, hoping the others don't notice their nervousness. Kaya and Paolo don't but when Skye turns around she finds Miles looking at her with that judgy expression he has when he thinks she's working too much. Which is always.

"We don't know what this thing is he's trying to buy," Miles says.

The younger guys stop their swift typing for a moment, then resume, already used to listening to Skye and Miles disagree.

"That's the point," she replies. "We don't know what it is. Nobody does."

"It could be dangerous."

"That's why a sociopath shouldn't have it."

Kaya clears her throat.

"The bank camera – the one in the corner? A bit tricky but you got it," she tells them.

Skye leans over the shoulder of the young girl, glancing at the black-and-white-and-greenish images, a good angle showing Clayton waiting by the payphones. She notices the girl's hair. Kaya wears a different hairstyle every day and somehow Skye has started looking forward to it, every day. Today she wears it in a straight ponytail, sticking out like a paint brush.

"When are we getting our caramel lattes from Krewe?" Paolo asks, without looking at Skye, words barely making it through the bangs with which the boy hopes to cover most of his face.

"What?"

"Today is Caramel Latte Saturday."

Miles covers his mouth with his hand, letting out a low chuckle.

"There's no such thing," Skye tells him. And seriously the fact these two like caramel lattes should be proof enough of how gullible they are. "That's something _Mr Lydon_ made up so you wouldn't ask about getting your pay in time."

"There's no Caramel Latte Saturday?" Kaya echoes in horror, wide green eyes.

Skye raises one eyebrow at Miles.

"They are so innocent," he says, "like little forest animals."

He doesn't look adequately repentant so she slaps him gently on the arm. 

No hazing the rookies, that has been her one rule. Which goes against everything she learned from Miles back in the day, of course, and she remembers her own rites of passage _vividly_ , but they are trying to save lives here, they're not in camp. It had taken Skye a long time to find people like Kaya and Paolo, with the specific skills these two have. She's going to treat them like the valuable assets they are.

Then Paolo, quiet as ever, the quiet mouse of the team, comes behind her without a noise and taps on her shoulder, reverential, in the same way he still calls her _Miss Skye_ despite her protests.

He pushes an item into her hand. It's what she asked for a couple of days ago.

"I doubt I'll get close enough for a tracker, but thanks," Skye says. She wonders how exactly he got it – the barely-of-high-school kid who wouldn't look you in the eye. But this is why she hired him, after all. Hire being a tenuous term in this case. She also knows he doesn't like to be asked how he gets this stuff, so she doesn't. "Okay, I'm ready."

Miles tries to pull her aside, the van not being roomy enough for that. He presses his hands against Skye's hips, drawing her to him for the illusion of privacy.

"You know I don't like it when you get all– action girl, and taking risks. We're hackers."

"We're more than that," Skye says, because that's point of all of this, of the endless hours and the bad food and the meager funds all spent on equipment. Traumatizing as the transition has been for her boyfriend. "And we've talked about this, Miles. I'm going to go out on the field whether you like it or not so you'd better start liking it. Plus of all of us, I'm the only one who can."

"I know, I know," he says, pulling away. He's learned to concede this point in the last few months. "It's just that..."

"You're worried, I know," she smiles at him and tiptoes for a quick peck on the cheek. "Anyway, that'll be the day this goon is any match for me."

Miles rolls his eyes, most probably because of _goon_ (Skye regrets that one too), but she knows he secretly likes her smugness, despite everything.

She looks down at her clothes. She would have liked something stealthier, more comfortable, but she doesn't have those suits anymore. And anyway, she has to blend in. There's something about saving the world in faded-blue jeans, after all.

Kaya and Paolo get in position. They are technically untrained and this is the biggest operation they have taken on so far – Skye taught them the basics, as they had been taught to her back in the day. They can defend themselves, but there's no way areound it: they are inexperienced kids. She is happy to keep them in the van, for now. Even Miles, who has had the benefit of more lessons with Skye and who is bigger and stronger than the two young hackers.

"You'll find me on feeds one and three," she tells her team. "But do not approach. No matter how bad it gets, okay? I can handle it."

The other three nod at her. Even Miles. She always says the same before every mission, but their "missions" have been pretty humble so far. She realizes she might be chewing more than she can swallow here, but she can't let anyone else pay the price. It's weird being the senior here. 

She tales one last look at the wall of the van, covered in photographs of Clayton and schedules, bills from restaurants and other scraps. She's proud of the work they've done here. No one else is looking at this guy.

Or that's what she thought.

"We have company," Miles says, pointing at one of the security camera feeds, the one from the chemist right on the square.

There's something sharp in the way he says it. Skye follows his gaze.

"You're kidding me, right?" Skye says when she notices the two familiar figures also surveilling the suspect, among the weekend crowds. She rolls her eyes. "What _the hell_ is SHIELD doing here?"

She can't let this distract her.

She will not let this distract her.

She pulls the door of the van open.

"Skye," Miles wraps his hand around her elbow.

"We don't have to get competitive," she says, shrugging, like that's the point at all. "I don't care who catches the bad guy, I'll play nice."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he says, still holding on to her arm.

She shakes him off, as gently as she can – she does that with him these days, be gentle, be careful, include him in everything.

"It's fine," she says. Miles knows her well enough to realize that's a lie, and well enough to keep that opinion to himself.

"He's here," he points out, though.

Like she doesn't know, like she hasn't seen.

Skye meets his eyes, no flinching. She's fine, she doesn't care anymore. That's done. Miles should know that. But if she dwells she is going to crack.

"I know. You don't have to worry about that, either. It's okay, I'm okay," and she begins to walk towards the square.

 

+

 

She should have known this wasn't going to be so easy.

Clayton hasn't escaped the law for years for nothing.

And the city is so freaking filled with people these days, no wonder he chose this time to make the exchange. The city is noisy and crowded, and Skye can only do so much with the help of security cameras. She had counted on them to follow the seller while she took care of Clayton and the object. At least the heat is not as bad as two days ago, when Skye had to open all the windows in her house at night, cursing herself for forgetting how it was like in the South, cursing herself for having ever abandoned this life. It's still humid today, but there's not that smell of soft earth that lingers on the mind even after you've gone home. Okay, so it's not easy being a do-gooder once the summer starts, she gets it.

The sheer number of people here disturbs her; she knows that's perfect for this kind of operations, but gods, the bad guys never thinks something might go wrong, do they. Miles was right, the object could be _dangerous_ , they normally are, her money is on this one being something at least weaponizable, considering who the bidders are. How many dozens of people are at risk right now? Just by being here in a popular spot. She tries a quick headcount around her but it soon overwhelms her. Too many innocent lives.

She cuts through dock workers after clocking off and hordes of tourists, always the tourists, always clumsily stumbling around, making ti difficult to pass through. Frustration wells inside her as she starts suspecting they haven't been quick or smart enough. She's not sure what a sleazelord like Clayton is doing messing around with alien technology but she had had every intention of finding out when she woke up this morning.

Now...

"Miles, please tell he hasn't made the drop."

"Uh..." she knows that noise. 

"Cameras got something? The contact?" Miles clicks his tongue. "They knew they were being watched?"

"Seems like that. Used the blind spots."

"Of which there are many here. I love this city, said she. We were super careful, I don't understand."

"Could have been your friends," Miles comments. She tries not to read it as unkind.

Skye snorts. "Whose friends?" She pauses. "I still see Clayton."

"What are you going to do, invite him to a coffee so you can ask about his illegal activities?"

"Maybe."

"Come on, Skye."

She tries to follow Clayton, which is not particularly wise of her – Clayton they have under surveillance for the most part, she was more interested in who he was paying so much money to, in case there's more where the object came from – but she hasn't been big on _particularly wise_ lately. She tells the rest of the team (that word still tastes odd in her mouth, but it's the best she's managed so far, and Kaya and Paolo like it and she gets why) to stand back, to which Miles begrudgingly agrees.

Making out a man in a tailored suit and a expensive briefcase in this neighborhood shouldn't be that difficult, if it weren't for the people spilling out from the bars, people taking to Saturday evening. People her age, people who could have been her. She's not complaining, she likes what she does. She might have been overestimating her capacity for leadership though, if today is anything to go by.

The sun is low already, orange crowns around everybody's heads, and it reduces Skye's visibility even further.

"Can you see anything?" Miles asks.

She tries shielding her eyes with her hand.

"Uh..." because she knows he'll recognize that noise.

They have spent five weeks tracing this purchase, ever since it was stolen from the not-so-safe vaults of the Army in Washington from under everybody's noses.

They have put everything they have, their combined skills, their hard-won trust in each other, their new system of operations, into this mission.

And now she finds herself in the middle of the square as the crowd part for a moment and lets her see how utterly lost she is. Left behind. Clayton is gone. Whoever his contact is, she never saw them.

"Lost him," Skye says into her coms.

"Yeah, me too," a voice says behind her.

She takes a moment to turn around because she recognizes that voice.

And when she does turn around she recognizes the suit and the tie as well. What is it, he hasn't had time to buy new clothes? She had guessed that without her there to question and bother him every day he'd have all the time in the world now.

"Skye," he says.

" _Director Coulson_ ," she replies in a sharp, cold voice.

They haven't seen each other in seven months.


	2. a one-town girl

She watches as Coulson and Miles exchange greetings ("Mr Lydon", "Suit", and she would find it funny, in another lifetime) and it's like seeing photographs of the process rather than being there. Kaya and Paolo tend to the equipment, throwing glances her way. They have always been extremely curious about her past – Skye has never hidden anything (she has never once lied), but one thing is being told your boss once worked for a secret governmental agency and another to see the guys in dark suits roll into town. Well, one guy in a dark suit. Impressive enough to two kids like Kaya and Paolo.

Then she leads Coulson behind the van to talk in private.

All the while she tries not to meet his eyes. It doesn't work out.

"Talk shop?" Coulson asks and Skye is secretly grateful that he is not pushing any personal agenda right off the bat. She is secretly grateful that he doesn't ask how she's been, or tries tell her how things are going in the Playground.

"Why is SHIELD after Clayton?" she asks. She can see the hurt in Coulson's eyes, the way she said SHIELD like it had nothing to do with her life.

"It's our job."

"I thought you had enough fires to put out with Talbot's shitstorm." 

Which, Skye doesn't say, but it's the reason why she didn't inform SHIELD in the first place. She could have, and she _should_ have, but she needed the trial by fire. They didn't even know if the object was SHIELD's at first, only that it sounded like alien technology. If they could pull this off without back up that would mean they could be useful, not a bunch of amateurs playing around. SHIELD is not nearly enough to protect the world.

"You would have called us in, eventually," Coulson says, like he can read her mind. "Right?"

"Right."

She crosses her arms. Coulson frowns for a moment. She remembers that frown and she tries not to remember. He looks older when he frowns and Skye tries not to remember that she likes that too. Liked, whatever.

"Well, your instincs were right," he says. "Clayton's just a broker. We're more interested in who he is selling this stuff to."

Skye doesn't even have to guess. She can see it in his eyes.

"HYDRA." He nods. "Please tell me there's no such a thing as a New Orleans HYDRA chapter."

He tries to smile, sympathetic. "Maybe a Louisiana chapter."

Skye gives him a blank stare. 

"What have you discovered?" he asks when he realizes she's not in the mood. He'd better get used to that, if they are going to collaborate in this.

Skye tells him. She takes out the tablet from her bag and puts him up to speed on Clayton, the object, the contact.

She can feel Coulson's gaze on her while she speaks. He's not trying to be subtle about it. She can feel his eyes on her face like Coulson is trying to commit her to memory. Her whole body stiffens with the weight of it. This is what she didn't want, what she wasn't ready for. She wishes somebody had told her this morning, that this was going to be day she had to come face to face with him again.

One thing Skye can say about the man, she told her not to contact her and he hasn't, not once, in these seven months. He's either really good with boundaries or doesn't have much interest. He must know Skye emails regularly with May and Simmons and apparently that's enough for him.

"Can I?" he asks, gesturing towards Skye's tablet while it's showing up all the research they've made in the last five weeks.

She nods and hands it to him. She doesn't ask for SHIELD's files in return but she's sure he'll give them to her.

Two can play this game so Skye takes a proper look at him while he studies the Rising Tide file on Clayton, all focus and tense by her proximity. He is awkward around her. He doesn't look so well. Not physically, it's something else. Maybe he's just tired, but he looks like a room after someone turns all the lights off. Or maybe it's just the she has forgotten how he normally looks.

"I didn't know the Rising Tide did field missions now," he comments.

"We're branching out."

She can feel his exhaustion grow with each of her words, even if he says nothing, doesn't sigh, tries to curl his lips upwards in appreciation. But even after all this time Skye can tell. She hates the fact that she can read him so well.

"Want to work together on this?" Coulson asks. Like he is a goddamn bureacrat not the Director of SHIELD.

"I'll work on this," she replies, curt. "If I have something interesting I'll let you know."

"We'll be around for a while," he says. Then something in his eyes changes. "Skye, I–"

"I'll call Trip if I find out anything else," she says, already turning around.

She wants to say that walking away is easy this time.

And in a way it is. Because once she walked away that first time the rest is nothing.

 

+

 

Kaya sits on her bed while she and Miles finish putting all the equipment back in Skye's flat. She does this teenage thing of taking over whatever room she is in, inspecting every object and making herself comfortable, Skye's favourite green cushion in her lap. The bed is a mess, but then again that's where Skye prefers to work.

"So that was your old boss, uh," she says. Skye and Miles exchange a look. "Doesn't look like the scary Director of scary SHIELD. Just looks like a random old dude."

"Well, he didn't throw you out of a plane," Miles remarks.

"He didn't _throw_ you out of a plane," Skye corrects him, and she doesn't know why it's important to make the dinstinction, why she feels like she should defend Coulson against her own boyfriend. Maybe because it was her fault in the first place. She rubs her wrist in an inconvenient pang of memory.

"We're not going to let them take the investigation away from us, are we?" Kaya asks.

What investigation? Skye thinks. We fucked it up.

"It's not a zero sum thing, Kaya," she says. "They can help. They're the good guys."

Miles makes a grimace.

Skye sits on the bed, taking the book Kaya has in her hands (not Skye's, some long historical thing the previous tenant left behind) and putting it back in the nightstand. The girl is easily distracted.

"Listen to me," she tells her. "I was part of that team, they are good people. Remember this: if you are ever in trouble, you can trust SHIELD."

This time Miles doesn't pull any face or makes an aside noise of disapproval.

"You sound like you're still part of the team," Kaya points out.

"Well, I'll always be SHIELD, in a way," she explains and about this at least she has no doubts. "Just like I've always been Rising Tide. That never changed, not even when I was with them."

Kaya drops her gaze. She fidgets with the bracelet Skye gave her some months ago as a gift, the silvery one that had been Skye's before.

"You are not going to leave, are you?" she asks.

Skye throws a glance at Miles over her shoulder. "Kaya. What are you talking about?"

"You are not going back to SHIELD, right? Because you sound like–"

"I'm not going back to SHIELD," Skye cuts her. "I'm with you, guys. Plus you would die, completely die of starvation or stupidity, if I wasn't here to keep an eye."

The girl chokes back a laugh but she nods, reassured. In many ways Kaya's experience is very much like hers, but she voices her fears more often than Skye ever did. It's probably healthier.

"Now scram," she says, ushering Kaya and Miles out of her room. "I need to take a shower."

 

+

 

When she comes out of the shower Kaya has left and Miles is waiting for her in her bedroom. He has that worried expression he's been putting on for hours. It's not entirely selfish, she knows.

"I'm having a late dinner with Trip uptown," she informs him, going through her wardrobe, realizing she has forgotten how to dress for a semi-social situation. It's been all work these past few months. She could have sworn she had some decent black jeans somewhere.

"Just Trip?" Miles asks.

She gives him _a look_.

"Miles... I'm not going to let it mess me up, okay?"

He comes up behind her, placing one hand between her shoulder-blades.

"Skye, I was there those first weeks after you walked away, remember? The state you were in? I know how much he hurt you."

You hurt me too, once, she wants to point out. But it's not the same, she can't really compare. Because Coulson never looked at her in that way, he wasn't interested like that. Skye is not sure why in the end she found it easier to forgive Miles for what he did – and well, he _has_ changed, and that helps – than to imagine herself ever forgiving Coulson. But she knows that at least Miles loves her, loved her.

She turns and wraps her arms around Miles' waist (some days he really is too tall for her) and yes, she remembers the weeks after she walked out of the Playground for good. She remembers showing up at his door and she remembers Miles not asking any questions and she thought she could love him again just for that. Maybe she does love him again. She doesn't really know. She's not very interested in linguistic these days. She made the decision to have him in her life and that's all that matters to her.

"I'll be late for dinner," she tells him, when he holds her back a little too tight. "Are you coming by later?"

Miles shakes his head. "I think I should let you rest tonight. You've had a long day."

Skye appreciates it. She knows he must feel a bit rejected by her insistence on living alone, but they don't have that kind of relationship anymore. He doesn't even stay over that often, it's all very juvenile between them right now. Skye likes her house with the rotten window-frames and the huge balcony, and she likes her solitude. To be honest she doesn't know what the hell she's doing. 

 

+

 

When Trip hugs her it's like they have seen each other mere days ago and everything feels a bit better.

He does that to people, Trip does, he puts them at ease. No, she had not forgotten how much he loved him, but she somehow had forgotten how much she liked having him around. She doesn't say that she's missed him, that she has missed them all, because that would be defeating the purpose. She has to hold on to her original choice or she couldn't function.

"New jeans?" Trip asks, checking her out.

"New as in rescued from the darkest, dustiest corner of my closet? Yes, _new_."

He laughs and the sounds fills the whole city, as far as she is concerned.

Skye does feel a bit guilty, because Trip had no part in the lies that had made her leave SHIELD, so it feels like she is unfairly punishing him. Like she is punishing everybody along with Coulson.

Not that he would complain about it, of course. Trip doesn't do that. Trip just smiles at her like she's made of gold or something. She has missed that.

It's a bit strained at first, as they head for the restaurant, and neither can come up with something to say. It's been too long, their everyday lives are too disconnected. They start with the mission, which is good, why he and Coulson are here, how they traced Clayton on their own, to which Skye adds her own, embellished tale. Trip tells her about other objects stolen from the Army, when they tried to move them to another facility, and how the rest of the team are also on the trail, scattered around the world.

It gets easier from then on.

Trip puts her up to speed as they have dinner. Nothing that might make her uncomfortable. Playground gossip, his latest outlandish theories on the Koenig brothers, how Hunter is driving May crazy (Skye still can't believe she took him over as her Jedi apprentice when she left and these days she's more inclined to forgive May for lying to her too, and missing the time they spent together). Fitz is doing better and Mack is helping with that. Simmons is _adjusting_ to being back, after such a long time undercover, but Trip is optimistic about that too.

Trip doesn't mention Ward, of course.

He doesn't mention the other elephant in the room either.

He does make some not-so-subtle enquiries about her new life in New Orleans.

"You have ducklings!" he points out, like it's so funny, so bizarre.

"What? I'm an excellent leader."

"Poor kids."

Skye tries not to gush about her team too much, about how talented they are, and how much they want to help. Part of her still feels like she's playing a role that doesn't belong to her – Skye The Team Leader, everything about her life tells her that the very idea is ludicrous. And yet she's trying to be exactly that. She's trying a lot of things.

"And who's your beau?" Trip asks, finally. "He's handsome."

So Coulson didn't tell him everything about Miles, that's interesting.

"My on-and-off boyfriend?" Trip seems amused by the expression. It's really hard to explain Miles to people. "He's... He's just known me forever. He's a decent enough guy. And he treats me well."

"Sounds like you have a nice thing going on there," Trip comments. Skye is not sure if he is trying to be supportive or to point out the lack of passion in her assesment of her own lover.

"Yeah, it's nice."

When they leave the restaurant Skye has to shake her head at the absurdity of the choice.

"You come to New Orleans and you wanted me to buy you Chinese?" she shakes her head. "It's oyster season, you know."

"I'm a man of habits. And when did you become such a foodie?"

"This city, it changes you," she says in a fond voice.

"Yeah, you look changed all right."

"Ah, that's the look, the concerned-older-brother Trip look," she says, pointing at the face he is making. "I don't like that look."

Trip grins. "I didn't say the change was bad. You look _well_ , girl."

"Thanks," Skye says, smirking, and links her arm with Trip's as they walk.

There's a brief silence but it's not uncomfortable like before. They cherish this silence between them, the easy companionship even after all these months, and Skye rests her head on his arm when they reach downtown.

"Can we talk about the Director already?" Trip eventually asks.

"Uh? No."

He disentangles her arm from under his gently, so he can look at her face.

"You know he's going to ask you to come back. Right?"

"Good luck to him with that."

Trip smiles. "I didn't say he thought you were going to say Yes."

He didn't even ask her to stay, that time, she wants to remind Trip. While the rest of the team were begging her to reconsider, Coulson stood there and said nothing. It's not that she had wanted him to ask, but she always wondered about his silence those last days. He made it easy to leave – logistically, she means. He sped things up so she'd get her backpay and made sure she had safehouses to go to if she needed them. As an act of contrition it felt a bit counter-intuitive, and all the while a part of her appreciated it and felt pathetic about doing so, because even at his lowest Coulson managed to still be _that guy_. So, no, in a way he didn't make it easy for her to leave.

"You and the Director are best pals now?" she asks Trip.

"It was a really long flight."

Her shoulders tense involuntarily, but she guesses she can't put this off forever, and maybe it'll stop Trip from making more remarks on the subject.

"Okay, I'll take the bait: _How is Coulson?_ "

"He's not doing so well," he replies quickly, and seriously. It makes Skye search his eyes; he means it.

A shiver runs down her spine, a familiar panic, thinking Coulson's condition might have worsened without her knowing. But that's not possible.

"What are you talking about? The episodes... He's okay, right? I get updates from Simmons, he's not getting worse."

Trip raises one eyebrow.

"That's not what I meant," he says.

" _Trip_."

She's not in the mood for this. She had enough of the team trying to exonerate Coulson as she was packing her suitcase seven months ago.

"Look, I'm on your camp, I get why you had to walk," he says and he means it too and Skye feels a wave of gratitude that surprises her, until she realizes he's the only one – apart from Coulson, which is ironic – who has said he understands what Skye did. "But you ask how the boss is doing? You walking away messed him up. As the Director he's doing all right, no more secrets, no more keeping everybody at arms' length. I think we have you to thank for that, by the way. But personally? He has us worried."

"He seems to be doing pretty well to me."

Trip lets out a frustrated noise but then he grins at her, Trip being Trip.

"Walk you to your house?" he offers.

He seems enchanted by her choice of neighborhood, her little flat on the corner, the people on the street. She would invite him up for coffee but she's not sure Miles has kept his promise of not coming by, after all. They say their goodbyes with another warm hug. Skye predicts there won't be much time for personal conversations in the days to follow.

"You know where we are staying," Trip tells her.

"Yeah, _tourists_."

"Affordable and scenic," he replies. "The room is under the name _Pablo Jimenez_."

Skye does a double take at that. "Really?"

Trip shrugs.

"Told you. Guy's a real mess."

 

+

 

She wants nothing else but to sink into her bed and into oblivion, after the day she's had.

But she takes inventory first, and makes sure Kaya hasn't messed the house too bad with her habit of looking into every cupboard and closet. Miles is not here, either, which Skye feels a bit bad about, how grateful she is to be alone tonight. Thankfully she's still stocked on beer, because she really needs a drink tonight.

When she gets to the kitchen she can't help it, she takes the key to the small table drawer and takes out Coulson's file. She is still working on it. She sits down, takes a long sip from her bottle, only the small kitchen lamp for light as she studies the photographs for the millionth time. The ones Coulson gave to her when he finally told her everything (not like he had a choice at that point, really) and the ones she has received later from May. Pictures of the symbols, Coulson writing the symbols, Coulson in pain.

The truth is: she can't stop thinking about him.

She sits back on the chair and sighs. The street outside is alive, even at three o'clock. Specially at three o'clock. Part of why she picked this house. She likes that, she feels comforted by the aliveness of it all, the constant human noise. She spent too long in silent places. And she loves the music, always humming somewhere even when you can't see it, don't know where it comes from, it gets under your skin.

She goes back to the file, the meager success she's had in finding answers. She wonders if Coulson knows she's still on it. Simmons is not so subtle about asking after her health every other week, looking out for possible symptoms and she knows Coulson is the one asking, actually. But she's fine. That's not why she is still working on this, decyphering the symbols, trying to track Raina and the Obelisk months after that trail went cold. Skye is not sure why she knows this but she knows that whatever the alien drug is doing to Coulson she won't have to go through that. For some reasons she won't.

That's not why she is doing it.

She hates that she is stll doing things for him.


	3. I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you

The heat has come back, and in full force, the next night.

She can barely stand to be in her thin tank top, and Coulson has taken off his jacket and left it on the bar stool, neatly folded. Sleeves rolled up and his shirt sticks to his skin, sweat everywhere. His damp hair sticks to the back of his neck as well, not that Skye should notice these things. But this place is always like this, specially when packed like tonight. Sunday nights are for musicians in search of second chances and people who want to dance. That's why Skye likes it. That's why she insists on conducting her business here. It's familiar and safe and oddly discrete thanks to the sheer number of customers.

She orders two Purple Haze, which Coulson gazes at suspiciously.

"Why are you here again?" Skye asks him.

"For your protection."

She chokes back a snort as she gets started on her beer. "I've done this without you for seven months, and I'm okay."

"I know," he adds quickly, too quickly. "But it never hurts to have back-up."

"I guess not." She shrugs. "It's okay, really, it's just my informant. There's no real danger."

"Maybe I'd like to see how Rising Tide operates these days."

"You could have sent Trip."

That cuts through him, scratches away the relaxed attitude he was trying on her.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking at his hands. "I should have sent Trip."

She has been a little too unkind. She gives him a softer look.

"No, not, it's fine. Back-up is always appreciated. I'm really glad you're here."

That's all it takes to get him to smile. Skye really doesn't understand the man, now more than ever. She could have predicted he'd grovel, maybe insist she came back to SHIELD outright. He's doing neither, but his whole vibe – humble, sad, cowering like he's afraid to piss her off with one little word – is worse than that.

"I see my contact," she tells him. "Girl in the blue shirt."

Coulson nods. "I'll keep an eye."

She slips into the unisex bathroom after her contact, a local girl that just goes by "G". She's good at finding out things. Skye met her through Paolo, of course, both being in the same line of business, so to speak. If they ask her Skye would call this outsourcing to sound professional. But this is the kind of thing the Rising Tide has always done.

"I only have an adress," G tells her, placing a scrap of paper in her hand.

It's probably more than Skye thought she'd find out just a day after the money drop. 

When she comes out of the toilets Coulson is indeed keeping an eye on the whole scene, attention divided between following Skye's informant with one eye and making sure she comes out of the stalls unharmed with the other. She didn't remember him ever being this tense on a mission. She gives him the piece of paper she has already memorized.

She frowns at the adress. "It's the docks, heavily guarded if I know the type of people Clayton employs."

"What's the plan?" Coulson asks.

"We have some time, he'll sit on the object for a few days at least. I can have Paolo on surveillance. He's good at that."

He nods and they go back to paying attention to their beers in silence. Again Coulson is doing the thing where he is looking directly at Skye whenever she is not meeting his eyes. It's unnerving, specially in silence, but she can't think of anything she'd like to say to him. Or she can think of way too many things.

"What are they playing?" Coulson asks, lamely, when the band settles into a sweet, slow tune. "It's nice."

"This? A standard. _I don't stand a ghost of a chance with you_. Bing Crosby, but you know, it got improved by jazzmen."

Coulson stares at her at that. She's not sure if it's the title or the knowledge, but something catches him by surprise.

"Sunday is for standards," she elaborates, as if mattered. She knows a couple of people in the band, the girl at the fiddle for sure. "People come here to dance."

"I didn't know you liked jazz."

"I didn't know, either," Skye confesses. "One day after a couple of months living here I woke up and boom, I had all this knowledge I didn't even want."

"Going native."

"Something like that."

She's not sure why she tells him this.

"This one is nice, too," he says when they start playing a different song. "Wanna dance?"

She blinks at him. Twice.

"You're asking me to dance? _With you_? That has to be a joke."

Coulson brushes his fingers around the neck of his bottle of beer, wiping off the condensation, looking distracted for a moment or like he is trying to pick the right words before looking up at Skye again.

"Someone told me to loosen up, some time ago," he says. "I'm trying new things."

"Like _dancing_."

He looks guilty for a moment, then gives the Purple Haze a big, brave gulp.

"Like giving in to... impulses," he explains.

Okay, Skye admits the phrasing gives her pause but – 

"That's very good, Coulson," she says. "But pick another dancing partner."

"If Trip were here you would dance with him," he points out quite boldly.

She fixes him the hardest stare she knows, eye wide and cold.

"Trip didn't lie to me for six months. About something that involved me, intimately."

Coulson doesn't hesitate to meet her eyes. "I deserve that."

"You do."

She returns to her beer for a moment before deciding that no, she is not going to be this person Coulson has made her into, not right now. She decides she could use some old-fashioned giving into impulses, too. She's been goody-two-shoes Skye for too long.

She grabs Coulson's hand and drags him away from the bar. 

"Don't let it be said that I stand in the way of Director Coulson trying to loosen up," she says, almost snarling and not looking back at him while she leads him to the dance floor.

But Coulson doesn't seem to mind the tone. His hand is on the small of her back almost immediately, easing her into the position.

She realizes how sweltering the heat is when they press their bodies (relatively) together. It's a peculiar kind of itch. Her top is practically soaked at this point and she feels sticky and uncomfortable and she is in Coulson's arms so, double that. This is not how she had expected the evening to go.

The band is playing a really slow, blues-y version of "Ain't That A Shame".

Coulson's hand is sweaty, but so is hers. She doesn't mind. She flattens her palm against his collarbone. He's a good dancer, he moves her easily to his rhythm, even amidst all the crap between them, and it doesn't really surprise her.

"Can I ask you a question about Paolo?"

"Is it about the scars on his face?" Coulson nods. "Not just his face. His father doused him in petrol when he was eight and well... Lucky for him his mother was very quick. Not so lucky for the mother."

He drops his gaze, heartbroken despair written all over his face. He really has an expressive face, even though he doesn't know it. Skye understands how he feels – and Coulson, well, he's seen a lot of stuff, but somehow stuff still bruises him, and now he is bruised and he doesn't even know Paolo.

But something else about telling him the story bothers Skye, the idea that he might assume things.

"I'm not running a charity here, Coulson," she says. "I have Paolo on my team because he's my eyes and ears in this city. And he is one of the best code writers I've ever known. I'm committed to the work, just like you."

"I know. It'd be okay if you were to run a charity, too," he says, a bit more lightly.

She relaxes a bit, even smiles at him.

She relaxes a bit and her body does too, following when he sways, and her hand presses slightly against his chest, encouraging the proximity.

Then something happens in that messy head of his because Coulson suddenly pulls back, still holding her in his arms but putting some distance between their bodies. He gazes over it, too, the connection between them, his hand holding hers, her hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Skye asks when she reads panic in his gesture.

"I'm thinking that... maybe it's not so wise for us to be this close."

Skye takes a moment to realize what he is talking about.

"Because of your condition? Because I have the GH-325 too?"

He nods.

She rolls her eyes. As a gesture of protest she pushes her body against his, pressing their hips together.

"I mean it," Coulson says, but funnily enough he is not trying to pull away. His hand moves up her back, resting between her shoulder-blades. 

Well, it's stupid, she wants to say. And if he hadn't lied to her and if he had shared his worries with her in the first place Skye would have told him that he was being dumb and that he wasn't going to hurt her and that anyway she wasn't going anywhere so he'd better get used to it. But he didn't, he didn't share his worries, so he didn't give Skye the chance to take them away.

Must be the contrary streak in her or a desire to prove a point in the worse possible manner but for some reason she takes her hand away from Coulson's, and instead she wraps her arms around his neck, bringing them closer until he has to hold her by the waist, proper slow dancing after all.

He looks incredibly uncomfortable –his grip on her hips is confident, though, almost too confident– but that was kind of the point.

And Skye is uncomfortable too. She hasn't seen him in seven months and now his face is way too close to hers, more than she ever expected it to be. His eyes, specially, are too close. She can see everything in them. But she did this, she was the one who pushed.

"Part of you must have been so relieved when I walked away," she tells him. "You no longer had that problem in your hands."

"It wasn't a problem," he replies. "But you're right, part of me thought you might be safer that way."

She can tell by the way his body freezes wherever she happens to be touching him. He still thinks he might hurt her if he gets too close. And it isn't a good excuse. It never was.

"And that's why you didn't even make a case in your defense?" Skye asks. "Is that why you didn't ask me to stay?"

She can see his lips part slightly but no word comes out. She feels his hands tensing at her sides, fingers twisting into the fabric of her top.

He still doesn't have anything to say in his defense and the song is already ending.

 

+

 

When they walk out of the bar it's still hot but much better than inside. Coulson is trying to "unstick" his shirt from his skin without much success, and Skye is trying her best not to scratch the spot under the straps of her bra, itching all over. She can't say that the proximity to Coulson while they danced helped much on that regard. 

"I've never been here," Coulson says.

"You've never been to New Orleans?" she finds it hard to believe. "It sounds like somewhere right up your alley."

"I've been to New Orleans. I've never been... here."

He gestures around them, to the bars and the people still crowding the streets on Sunday night, he's never been in the French Quarter before, that's what he means.

"I'll call you a cab," she says.

"And you?"

She thinks about her house – it's really close – and she wonders if Miles will be there waiting for her and waiting to hear about how it went with the informant. Skye feels a sharp stab of guilt for not wanting to go home. She looks at Coulson and feels guilty about the idea of going home to Miles, which is absurd because if anything - if _anything_ it should be the other way around. She doesn't want to linger here. She doesn't want to stay with Coulson either, not exactly. She just doesn't feel like going home.

"I'm walking home," she tells him. "I always walk home."

"Do you want some company?" Coulson asks.

What does that even mean, Skye wonders.

She takes out her cell phone. "I'll call you a cab."


	4. you don't know the one who dreams of you at night

She wakes up grumpy the next day so it's just as well she doesn't get to see Coulson at all.

She wakes up cranky and still sweaty and to Miles very sweetly offering morning sex, which she declines – and that has to be a first ever because morning sex? That's kind of Skye's thing. And then she burns the eggs for breakfast. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ she sighs and if Miles has any theories on that he keeps them to himself.

She doesn't let it affect the work. Today they have systems to crack, neighborhood security cameras to turn in just the right direction. Skye needs to keep her head in the game.

"He has to stay in the hotel and coordinate the other missions," Trip tells her when Skye _doesn't ask_ about Coulson.

She's been living here for months, how come it's Trip the one who looks cool as a cucumber in this heat?

He has brought some toys with him, some sort of peace offering in a way, more processing power than her computers currently have, so she appreciates the technological helping hand because it's up to her and Miles now, to trace every bit of information they have on Clayton down to its useful source.

"I'm thinking a mike," Miles suggests.

"For the house? With range enough that we'll be safe..." She doesn't know. She had hoped to avoid getting too close to the lion's lair. "It'll take me a day or so to get the equipment, but we can try."

Trip takes a backseat throughout the morning; he's an specialist and they don't have much use for that until the very end. He seems politely interested in the process, and manages to win Kaya over his is old-school charm, because the girl was giving him the stinky eye all morning. Not that Skye doesn't appreciate Kaya's "get away from my boss" attitude, and it was fun to see Trip navigate that animadversion from a teenager.

He navigated it skilfully.

When Trip goes out to get some air she follows.

"I had never seen hackers at work before," he admits.

"It's quite boring," Skye says.

"Yes, it is." Then his expression changes. "Hey, emailing is all and good but Jemma asked me if I could ask you to phone sometime."

Skye feels like shit but she also doesn't want to offer fake promises.

"It's – it's hard, Trip."

"I know."

"She's following some of the other stolen objects?"

He nods. "She's up in Montreal with Hunter."

She can't believe Coulson (and May) would let Hunter lead a mission – but then she guesses she's been away too long, things could have changed and she wasn't there to know. Everything could have changed.

"I never asked. How did the meeting go last night?" Trip asks, changing the subject.

Skye shrugs, not wanting to give him an opening. "Okay, I guess."

"The Director came back to the hotel in quite a state," he says. "What did you do to him?"

She knows Trip is just teasing her but something inside Skye snaps.

"Can we not talk about Coulson for one goddamned minute of my life?" she lashes out at him. Then, realizing. "I'm sorry. That wasn't for you."

She wraps her fingers around his upper arm, tries for an apologetic smile.

"No, it wasn't," he agrees, but he smiles back at her. "But we can talk about whatever you want."

Skye looks out at the street.

"Trip... Do you want to hear something incredibly depressing?" she asks.

"Always."

"Ever since HYDRA came out of the shadows the number of spontaneously organized right-wing extremist groups in this country has increased by a 17%, their recruitment numbers by a 23%."

"Does that mean...?"

"NeoNazi groups are cheered up by HYDRA's existence and _they want to help_."

Trip shakes his head. What other reply is there, really.

 

+

 

They take Trip out for lunch, she and Miles and Kaya, to make up for the sad dinner experience of the other night.

Miles has a friend chef doing some sort of pop-up operation, not entirely for tourists, on Bienville.

The place is packed but contacts go a long way in this town – Trip is almost impressed (Skye realizes he has never watched her out in the world, he's always known her as a SHIELD agent first, not through her past like the rest of the team, the other team, the _old_ team).

They order garlic soup, pork chops, sweetbreads, the works.

"I thought I was on a mission," Trip says. "Not on vacation. You're all indulging me."

Kaya hates New Orleans food and sulks all the way, barely touching anything until the beignets arrive. She pesters Trip about what videogames he plays, well after Trip denies he plays any at all. Despite protestations they seem to be best buddies now. Skye has to laugh – Trip certainly is charming, but Kaya is irresistible in her own way, Skye's thought so ever since she found her on the streets of Houston jailbreaking iPhones.

Miles seems more relaxed around Trip this time, thank god, though he still regards him with some suspicion. There is this pervasive idea that Trip (and Coulson, but that's another story) is going to somehow take her away. Miles might not be as vocal about it as Kaya, or as gloomy as Paolo, but Skye knows him well enough to know it's there. Last time he lost her to SHIELD, he is anxious about a repeat.

 

+

 

She loves Miles' tiny flat, most of the time, and she likes his unruliness and would never think of pointing out how untidy his bedroom looks, and she likes that he could be living in this city and still set his radio to country and folk stations because he's a big ball of sap, like now, a 1990s rendering of "You don't know me" filling the room while Skye searches his closet for her black top, and she even hums at it absent-mindedly, _I've let my chance go by, the chance that you might love me too..._ but as much as she likes all this juvenile lack of order sometimes it makes things difficult, like when she is trying to locate clothes she might have left in his house.

"You have other tops," he is saying, not helping. Skye is not sure why she is so antsy about this but she is.

"I have to do the laundry."

"You're not going to dinner with Trip again, are you."

"No, I have a lot of work tonight," she says. Then she turns around, noticing his expression. She walks to the door and puts one hand on his knee, almost patronizingly. "Are you jealous? Do you think Trip is going to steal me away?"

Miles snorts back a laugh. "Yeah, like it's Agent Triplett who I should be worrying about."

That's a pretty sharp hit and Skye wonders what Miles is thinking about, exactly, if it's more than just an expression.

"Miles."

"It's okay," he says. "I get it – seeing your old team, talking with them and about them. It's bound to stir some shit up. Confuse you."

"Confuse me?" she raises one eyebrow, pushing Miles against the mattress.

"I just want to know you're committed to... the team. The work we are doing here."

She nods, can see and hear Kaya's fear in him too. She feels a bit bad for enjoying it, being valued like this. Because that had never happened to her before, to have people worry because she'd leave. Then she thinks about Coulson and she doesn't want to know why he didn't ask her to stay. Skye wants to know if he had _wanted_ her to stay at all.

"I'm committed," she tells Miles, bending over to kiss him brieftly.

Then she goes back to looking for her black top.

 

+

 

That night she's working, like she said she would, sitting on the bed, mind-numbingly boring work (but someone has to do it), going through the motions really, when the phone rings. She assumes it's Miles, asking if he can come around.

She already has at least three excuses -none of them lies- at hand when she realizes it's an unfamiliar phone number after all.

"Hey," and it takes her a moment to recognize Coulson's voice.

"Hey," she replies, wrong-footed because she wasn't expecting him to call and for a moment she forgets she's angry at him and for a moment she's just happy, stupidly happy to hear his voice.

"Trip gave me this number. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no. We are working together, after all."

"Is it too late?" he asks. "Were you asleep?"

"No, I was working."

"On the case?"

"No," she tells him. "Something on the side. Just to gain some money. So I can buy equipment to catch the bad guys with. It's a spiral."

"I don't want to bother you if you are busy," Coulson says. 

For some reason she doesn't really want him to hang up. "No, no, shoot."

The cordiality – is it easier for her to do this when she doesn't have to look at his face? Skye wonders.

"I was thinking of visiting the docks tomorrow," he tells her. Not personal. Work stuff then. Good. Better. "If you think Paolo wouldn't mind the company."

"No, I'm sure it'll be fine. And we could use your profiling skills, see if you can check on Clayton's workers."

"That's what I was thinking. SHIELD's face recognition software should be a bit more advanced than yours, even now."

"Well, don't get cocky," she says. Though he is right, she should have thought about it before. She doesn't find it easy, thinking about asking for help. Specially his help. That makes her a bad leader, probably. "Make sure not to attract attention."

"Don't worry. I'll put on my undercover clothes."

"And what does that mean?" she asks.

"No tie? A blue shirt? I honestly have no idea."

She smiles, even though, well, he can't exactly see her.

The heat in her room is quite oppressive, even with the windows open, even in cut-off and an old t-shirt. She wonders if Coulson can feel it too, or if his room has air conditioning. Is he still wearing his suit or is it too late and he's made himself comfortable? No, for some reason Skye can't imagine he would have called her like this if he wasn't wearing his suit. Skye presses her back against the plaster wall, trying to cool her skin somehow.

"What are you doing right now?" she asks him.

There's a pause at the other side of the line. "What do you mean?"

"Are you at the hotel? In your room?"

"Yes. I was thinking about ordering some room service. I don't feel like going down to the restaurant."

"That's really sad," she jokes, hearing Coulson make a tiny amused sound.

"Trip told me you took him to lunch," he says, after a pause.

"Yeah. Something better than Chinese."

"I hear it's oyster season."

She laughs. "We gave him the proper treatment. Po-boy and all."

"Sorry I missed that," he says. Then a beat. Then his voice is completely different: "Though it was probably better this way. For you, I mean."

"Coulson..."

He's not whining, which of course only makes everything worse.

"No, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry I said that."

"I don't want to be angry at you all the time," Skye says. "But it's not something I have any control over."

"I know. You really don't have to explain yourself. You're doing a great job here, with the investigation. The rest... it's fair enough."

He sounds resigned more than anything.

She lies on her back, on the pillows, running her hand across her stomach. Through the thin fabric of her t-shirt she can feel the rough outline of her scars.

"I thought we were partners, that is all," she tells him, without bitternes, just sad.

"And I betrayed that. _I know_."

The worst part of it all is that Coulson is the only one she can talk to about this, because he's the only one who gets it. But at the same time he's the last person she wants to talk about this with. It's frustrating and it's not fair. On top of everything Skye lost the one person she could confide in. 

"Are you still there?" he asks and she realizes she hasn't said anything for a while.

"I do feel guilty, you know," she says. "For walking away. Don't think for one moment that I don't feel anything."

"It wasn't you fault, Skye, you did the only thing you could. It was my fault."

"It was," she says, because he shouldn't ever forget. But then it's softer: "But I keep thinking I could be back with the team, helping. That idea haunts me. That there are things only I can – like with Ward. I wonder if I'm selfish, because leaving meant you had no way of extracting any intel from him."

"It wasn't fair to ask you to do that in the first place," Coulson says and this is the first time he's put it in so many words. It's shocking and Skye has to sit up on her bed to listen to this, pull her legs up to her chest. He goes on. "By removing yourself you removed the problem of Ward too."

"You mean you are glad you don't have to make that decision anymore?"

She knows it wasn't exactly Coulson's decision –he couldn't have forced her, she was his accomplice– but she also knows Coulson thinks about it that way.

"I mean I wish I had been a better man and not taken the deal with the devil. Without you there, it's easier."

It's a weird way of putting it.

"Well, if you keep talking like losing me was the best thing that ever happened to you..." she teases.

Coulson laughs. "No. I'm sorry. I'll stop now."

The joyful noise lingers.

"You should probably get on with your dinner. Your pathetic, room-service dinner."

"Well, _I_ have nobody to me out to a fancy restaurant."

"Coulson?" she calls, softly.

"Yes?"

"Good night."

She can hear a tiny sigh across the line.

"Good night, Skye."


	5. close call

"It's okay, he's fine," Coulson tells her as soon as he catches sight of her arriving by Paolo's room. "The doctor will let you see him in a few minutes."

"Is he–?"

"Couple of cuts to the head. Some sutures. No concussion. Skye, he's going to be fine."

She tries to breathe more evenly now. It's not that she doesn't believe him, but she kind of needs to see the kid. 

And she doesn't do so well in hospitals.

"Being someone's emergency contact sucks," she says, to deflect the tension. Then she remembers hers is still Coulson, she never changed it back to Miles and she feels too awkward to even look at his face.

"Two of Clayton's guys threw him to the ground," Coulson is explaining. "Kicked him around a bit. Nothing serious, I talked to his doctor."

"Thank you," she says and it should be obvious but wow, she really is grateful. She shudders to think what would have happened if Coulson hadn't chosen today to keep watch on the docks.

"Don't thank me, please."

And he means it. He doesn't want her to thank him for this. And he is... He is alternatively the worst and the best person Skye has ever known. No, not alternatively. He does it all at the same time.

"You saved Paolo's life," she insists. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. He was being brave and reckless. You've taught him well."

"Hardly." A bit calmer now, Skye has time to worry about the logistic problems of this attack. "Do you think Clayton's guys...?"

"No, they just took him for some random kid loitering. They didn't have much interest in a fight. Went off running when I entered the scene."

Skye smirks. "They couldn't win against Director Coulson's powerful fists and they knew it."

"They didn't like not having the advantage in numbers anymore, that's all," he shrugs. "I doubt my fists would intimidate anyone."

"Oh, I don't know, I've seen you in action..."

Coulson chuckles. It feels like the old times. It feels good and horrible and Skye never thought they would ever tease each other like this again, good-natured but right on the edge of flirting. They shouldn't. But Coulson saved Paolo's life and he has this concerned expression on his face – he doesn't know the boy, not really, but _he cares_ , and that was what drew Skye to the man in the first place. It's easy to forget everything that went down afterwards.

But then she does remember what has happened today and she can't keep a cheerful outlook on the whole thing.

Coulson notices her expression.

"Is this the first time someone gets hurt under your command?"

She snorts, unable to meet his eyes. " _Command_? How grand."

"Skye, you're their leader."

She looks up.

"And you? How many?"

"I stopped counting the wounded when the dead started piling up," he replies.

She shouldn't press but: "And the dead?"

"Under my direct orders? Thirty-seven. Sorry, thirty-six. I was so used to including Akela."

Skye stares at him, she's not sure if what she is feeling is admiration or horror.

"How can you stand it?"

Coulson lifts his shoulders a bit. "I'm not sure I do."

Skye nods, pressing her lips very tight together.

"Oh god I'm sorry, I didn't ask," she remembers. "Are you okay? Did those thugs hurt you?"

She's not sure why she does it but she reaches her hand to his elbow, touching him, like making sure he's safe. Coulson reacts in an equally ill-advised fashion because he lifts his hand as well, moves to touch Skye's hair for a moment, pushing it behind her shoulder.

"Don't worry," he replies. "I'm all right."

Skye doesn't know what is going on here, exactly, but they stand like that, not moving away, with that lingering touch between each other, for a bit, until a doctor comes to give an update on Paolo's condition.

 

+

 

Skye sits with him until he comes around again, the painkillers keeping him a bit groggy for a while.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

He looks so tiny in those hospital robes, even more than usual. She is used to having him in his black, oversized hoodie and his red military boots.

Paolo meets her eyes fleetingly, which is new. Maybe it's just the medication, or the scare.

"My head. It... stings?"

"Must be the sutures."

"How many...?"

"Fourteen, not bad. Badge of honor."

The boy chews the inside of his cheek. "Did I mess up the investigation?"

She shakes her head. It breaks her heart that he might think this is somehow his fault.

"I was being careful," he says.

"I know." Skye doesn't know what she is doing. She thought she could get everybody to play the game of alternative-SHIELD and this is the result. A child in a hospital bed. She goes to reach for his hand but then she remembers he doesn't like people touching him. But she wants to tell him, somehow, how guilty and inadequate she feels. "Paolo, I'm _so sorry_."

He frowns. "Why?"

He doesn't understand, wouldn't understand if she explained it to him. Skye feels a wave of fondness for the kid, for his naivety, resilient even after all the bullshit in his life. Well, in that she can relate.

"Next time we won't leave you alone," she tries, anyway. "It was a dangerous job to begin with."

"I wasn't alone." 

"No, I guess not."

"Could you call the cool dude who saved my life? Tell him to come by?" he asks. "I want to thank him proper."

"Cool dude who– Are you talking about Coul–?"

"Mr Coulson," Paolo says and Skye has to make an effort not to laugh.

 

+

 

When she comes back, Coulson – sorry, _Mr Coulson_ or "Cool Dude" in tow, Paolo's spirits seem somehow dampened from just five minutes ago.

"Fast," he comments.

"I was in the hospital," Coulson says. "I brought you here. Don't you remember?"

The boy touches the side of his head, like it hurts him to remember.

"I guess," he says.

"You hit your head really hard, so..."

"Thanks," Paolo tells him. "For saving my life."

He waves it away. "It's the job. You would have done the same for me."

"Yes, I would have," the boy replies quickly, eagerly.

"I'll hold you to that," Coulson says and it should sound like he is trying too hard but instead he sounds sincere and smooth. Skye had forgotten he _can_ be charming. He hasn't been charming since he arrived here.

The boy looks away, though.

"What is it?" Skye asks.

"The doctors..."

"They said you were going to be just fine. You can go home tomorrow."

"I know but... They cut my hair, they shaved my head," he says helplessly.

She and Coulson exchange a pointed look.

Oh. That.

"They had to," Skye explains, resting her hand next to the boy but not touching him. "So they could apply the sutures. It will grow back in no time. _I promise_."

"But now everybody can see my scar," he tells her. It's the first time the boy has made any direct reference to how odious he finds that people look at his face.

"That's okay, Paolo." What can she say, anyway?

"But I had bangs, like yours. I wanted to look pretty like you." Fatigue and pain and medication have turned Paolo into a more open version of himself. He's more childish and easily bruised than he lets the world know. He never complains. It would probably be better if he did. Skye wishes it didn't take a beating from some local gangster to make him complain.

"You're a very pretty guy," she tells him, lamely.

"Very," Coulson adds, more assured and helpful.

"And scars aren't so bad," Skye says, because maybe it would ease his pain and she is willing to try anything. "I have a really ugly one. Do you want to see it?"

Paolo nods and given his circumstances Skye can't believe she hasn't told him about the awful-looking mess on her stomach before.

She lifts her black t-shirt to reveal the reminder of Quinn's bullets. She can feel the weight of Coulson's gaze on her, not on her stomach, but on her face. That's old news and she's not doing this so that he could feel guilty again.

Paolo looks at it, fascinated, like he is revaluating everything he knows about Skye, and he is a bit impressed too, and like he hadn't been completely sure she was telling the truth.

"Creepy, uh? What, you thought I was lying about it?" she says and she can see that the muscles in the boy's face relax, his lips almost curled upwards. Then, before she can stop herself, she gestures towards Coulson: "And this cool guy who saved your life, he has a pretty big scar too."

Paolo looks even more skeptical about _that_.

"He does? You do?"

Coulson nods.

Skye almost gasps in surprise when Coulson starts unbuttoning his blue shirt to show Paolo, to prove it. She didn't mean to push him to do that. But she also doesn't know how to tell Coulson he doesn't have to do this without further embarrassing Paolo, or shaming him.

The scar is bigger than Skye had imagined and Coulson seems perfectly unconcerned by exposing it to her and her teammate, here in the middle of a strange New Orleans hospital.

"See?" he points out. "Very gross."

"So gross," Paolo agrees, grinning, looking like the teenager he is for the first time since Skye met him.

Coulson smiles back at him.

 

+

 

"Coulson, I swear, I didn't meant to put you on the spot. You didn't have to do that," Skye tells him, once visiting hours are over and they are back in the hallway.

"I know," he says. "But I wanted to."

" _Thank you_. I know that wasn't easy."

He shakes his head, cutting off her thanks.

"I just hope it helped," he says, simply.

She nods, thinks of something to say, if she could trust her voice right now. It was weird, because she had never seen his scar either, and she knows how particular he is about it (it doesn't take a genius or a shrink to figure out his feelings on the subject, Coulson hates the thing) and here he was, offering it freely to someone he barely knows.

"How old is Paolo?" he asks.

"Officially? Because I'm still really good at fake IDs." Coulson just holds her gaze. She barely has the strength to tell the actual truth here: "He's sixteen."

"I'm sorry," he says, his gaze so kind and soft. "Are _you_ all right?"

And it's his voice, Skye thinks.

Or his eyes, it's always his eyes.

Or maybe it's everything.

But when she tries to nod all she manages is a choked sobbing noise and she knows she cannot, she will not cry in front of Coulson, so she twists her fingers into his blue shirt ( _undercover clothes_ , god, he is so stupid) and pulls him to her, until her sobs are muffled by his shoulder.

There's not even half a beat until Coulson has his arms around her, holding her, stroking the back of her head.

She buries her face into the hollow of his neck, moving her hands to his chest, the first couple of buttons in his shirt still undone, it feels so good to find the solidity of his skin and the soft layer of hair.

It's weird, letting go of her anger for a moment, letting go of whatever is fucked up between them. But it's worth it, she thinks, because Coulson's arms around her are warm and real and to hell with the rest of it, she's too tired for the rest of it. 

It's selfish but she thinks she might just forgive him, if he keeps holding her like this.

She wonders whether she already has.


	6. these lonely, lonely nights

She admits she sleeps better in this town, heat and noise and all.

Maybe she just sleeps better in general since she left. The nightmares had bled away little by little. She didn't make the connection at first but then she guessed that putting more than a few states between her and the never-safe-enough vault cell where Grant Ward dwelt was what had done the trick.

At first she didn't make the connection because she remembers those first few days, weeks, _after_. She slept twelve hours a day, she slept days on no end, she slept from tiredness and anger and trying not to cry and crying and from trying to just _not think_ about it. At first she thought she slept better because she needed to.

She will always sleep light – that was part of her from way before SHIELD – but she manages to catch a good rest after a long day.

And yesterday was a long day – she appreciated being able to just fall, pretty much unconscious, on the bed. She had wanted to stay the night in the hospital but Paolo wouldn't hear of it. Coulson promised he'd check up on him first thing in the morning and Skye appreciated that too. Miles didn't even call, so she had the whole evening to herself. She tried not to think how Miles is acting strangely these days, beyond his usual dislike for all things SHIELD. Skye guessed they'd have to talk soon but she was happy to put it out of her mind at least for one night.

She feels better in the morning, after calling the hospital to make sure they are releasing Paolo today.

She feels better once she can focus on the work.

She parks the van at a safe distance from Clayton's center of operations in Mid-City and sets up her surveillance equipment, including her new shotgun mic, black-market bought (she still has her contacts) and barely up to the task but holding on. She's cleared everybody for the day and after what happened to Paolo she prefers it this way. She has a team now but she still likes the solitude of the job sometimes: hours and hours locked in her van, listening for clues, checking this name or that location, getting used to the difference between the voices of Thug #1 and Thug #2.

So it's not really her old van – forever lost on the bureaucratic nightmare of trying to figure out what was SHIELD and what was HYDRA or probably sold for scrap by the Army – but she has already gotten used to working out of the new one.

"Where's the rest of your team?" Trip asks when he comes by to check up on her.

Skye likes her solitude sometimes, but she also appreciates good company, so she smiles at Trip in that short-hand smile they've shared since almost day one (well, not quite, as Skye spent the first days of their acquaintance lying unconscious on a bed and dying and being saved) and invites him in.

"I don't want them near this dude," she says. "Not after what happened yesterday."

"Coulson told me. I'm really sorry."

She nods. If she lets it the panic from yesterday will take over again, if she remembers too much of it. She tries to remember that Paolo is okay instead, that he even smiled and looked at her. She tries to remember the strange, lonely peace she felt when Coulson held her. It's better than the panic, anyway.

She shrugs, trying to make it sound less scary in front of Trip.

"Could have been worse," she says, and it could have, that's the problem. "We got lucky."

"Well, the boy is a proper Rising Tide agent now," Trip says.

"I'll be sure to put it to him like that. He'd like that."

He gets all the way into the van, closing the door behind him. You can't tell day or night from in here, just the soft blue and green of the various screens. Trip sits on the floor with her. If need be the van is able to accommodate five people, but it's not the most comfortable option.

They chat about nothing for a while, the city, Trip's plans for the afternoon. It's easy and good, talking to him like this. It's not like nothing has happened, they are not pretending she never left, but it's not awkward either. Skye realizes she's going to miss having Trip here when the mission is over.

"Hey, can I ask why you didn't bring the Bus?" she asks him, because the question has been on her mind. "Or the quinjet? I checked, you guys came here in a commercial flight."

"You _checked_?"

Skye looks away, smirking. "Old habits. Really long fingers. Plus I need to keep an eye out for those well-known HYDRA aliases."

"Okay, I'll let it slip," Trip says. "May, Fitz and Mack have the Bus. They're in Europe."

"Not breaking international laws, one would hope."

"Well... they try not to, anyway."

Skye doesn't ask for details. She doesn't feel she has the right to.

"And the quinjet?"

"In the shop," he says, rather more solemnly. "We had a scrape with some really bad guys a couple of weeks ago and the jet got hit too."

There's something in his eyes, something more serious than Trip usually lets the rest of the world see.

"Bad one?" Skye asks.

He nods. "May and I got out with only a few scratches. Coulson got shot at."

"He did?"

Trip swallows and Skye can read the memory of fear in that gesture. He's not joking.

"Collarbone," he explains. "Bulletproof vest almost didn't catch that. Nasty bruise and he got knocked out, he said he thought he was dead for sure."

She looks at Trip. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"Why should you? You're doing your own thing. You can't be worrying every time we are in danger."

It's not an accusation.

Coulson didn't mention anything about getting hurt in a mission, but then again Skye's attitude towards him these days doesn't invite that kind of confidence.

Trip is right, of course he's right. She has her own team to worry about.

Still, she doesn't like the idea of any of them getting hurt without her knowing it. She guesses that's what she signed up for, when she walked away, but it is disturbing. They could even die and Skye would be going about her day with no knowledge of it. That's unthinkable and Skye feels her whole body paralyzed at the thought.

"I'm pretty useless with with this stuff," Trip comments, pointing at the computers, sensing Skye probably needs a change of subject. "When do I get to do some field work, boss?"

"Soon," she says, trying to sound more cheerful. "Things sound hectic in the villains' lair today, they must be getting ready for the big sell."

"Okay then."

He moves to the door, leaving her to the work.

"Hey, Trip," she says. "If you talk to Simmons... Tell her I'll call her soon. Okay?"

He gives her a surprised look.

"Thanks," he says, warm.

"No, I should have done it a long time ago."

Trip gives her a friendly squeeze on the arm at the confession. And then he leaves.

 

+

 

"Any news?" Coulson asks, pointing at the monitors, after telling her about his visit to Paolo in the morning.

"Not much. I mean, a lot of illegal stuff but we already knew that," she says, always second-guessing, wondering if her voice sounds normal when she talks to him. "And anyway it's not like we can go to the police with it."

He sees how Skye is sitting on the floor of the van while she works and gets in, trying to imitate her posture – with difficulty, Coulson is not a cross-legged kind of guy and Skye has to stop herself from smiling at his discomfort. He closes the door, careful not to seem suspicious in the middle of a delicate operation.

"Send me the files," he says, about Clayton and his activities. "I'll see if I can pull some strings when I get back to the base."

That would be a great help. Even if they bust this dude for selling material to HYDRA that doesn't mean his operations are going to stop.

"Thanks. This is not a good guy to have in your city," she says. "Your end?"

"Yeah, we've located a couple of HYDRA agents around town."

"It's going to go down, uh?"

"They are interested in the technology. They will pay."

"What are they are going to do with it?" she wonders out loud. She's seen the reports on the object now. "They're just scraps of metal. Nobody knows what it does."

"Maybe HYDRA knows what it does," Coulson says. There's that troubled expression on his face because yes, HYDRA have been way ahead of them on these matters from the beginning. "That's what worries me."

Skye nods, it is troubling, but she tries to be positive. "We'll get the object back. So whatever it does, it won't fall into wrong hands."

He agrees silently. Then he looks around him, considering the vehicle.

"Much bigger than your old van."

"And yet I don't live inside this one," Skye comments. Then, feeling the bittersweet pull of self-pity: "It's not as cozy, though."

Coulson shifts where he sits, flatenning his palms against the floor and leaning back.

"I think this is pretty cozy," he says, a complacent expression in his face.

Well, he never got to sit in her old van. Skye regrets that. She was very proud of her home, she would have liked for Coulson to hang out. Not that it matters now.

She notices the carrier bag he has with him.

"Went shopping?" she says, gesturing towards it. "I see you've been to the Factory."

"I realized I don't know much about the music of this city," Coulson replies. "And since I'm here..."

Look who's going native now.

She is about to make a quip about how he's on a mission but to tell the truth this is an investigation with a lot of waiting periods and down times so she can't really begrudge him a little bit of tourism. Hell, Trip just told her he was going to go sample the local food some more, despite his former prejudices.

And well, it's actually nice to see that Coulson takes a moment just for himself, to relax. He should have done that more often, when Skye was still in SHIELD. It would have helped.

Skye wonders if this sudden shopping impulse has anything to do with their conversation the other night, when he convinced her to dance with him.

"What did you pick?" she asks, truly curious.

He tosses the bag with the cd her way.

"The guy in the shop said this one was good," Coulson explains.

"Earl King? Sure, it's good. Try _Those Lonely, Lonely Nights_ , it's the best one."

Coulson looks at the tracklist for a moment, pensive.

"Well, thank you."

"Enjoy it," she says, giving it back.

They don't quite know what to say for a while, or so it seems. Coulson brings his knees together, shifting nervously on the hard floor. Sitting in vans takes a bit to get used to, she learned a long time ago.

Skye steals a couple of glances at his shoulder, his chest, remembering Trip's story about Coulson getting shot. She wonders how much of it is true or how much is Trip's colorful retelling. She wants to ask Coulson, of course, ask if he really thought he was going to die. That's the kind of thing they would have talked about in the old times, when they were close, when they were a team and Coulson actually enjoyed her company.

"It must be hard work here by yourself," he comments, rather uncharacteristically. But well, Coulson doesn't sound like Coulson these days, at all. Or maybe Skye can't tell the difference anymore.

"It's okay."

He looks at his hands holding the little Louisiana Music Factory bag. He looks at her, but only sideways, when he speaks.

"I can go get something to eat if you want," he tells her. "Come back and have lunch together?"

"Oh, that?" Skye doesn't know what to say, it almost physically pains her to reject the offer. "Thank you, Miles is bringing me some sandwiches later."

"Okay. That's just fine," he says. "I guess I'll stop distracting you."

She nods.

But before he goes and just as he is reaching for the door of the van he turns around. He narrows his eyes at Skye a moment, holding her gaze.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Such formality," Skye comments. "You're the Director of SHIELD, I'm a humble hacker, you can even _demand_ an answer."

"You don't have to reply."

"Fine, you can ask."

"When you left SHIELD..." Coulson starts, pausing until he sees on her face that it's okay to go on.

Skye feels her whole body tense a bit. "Yeah...?"

"I know I never asked but. Would you have stayed, if I had asked?" 

The question is coolly composed. This is not an emotional thing, he really wants to know.

Skye doesn't have to think twice.

"No, I wouldn't have," she replies.

"That's – actually I'm glad to hear that." 

" _Wow_ , Coulson. Just wow."

"No, I mean– " he sighs a little, drawing his hand over his face. "All this time I've been wondering if I could have done something to change your mind. And maybe I could have tried harder–"

"Nothing you could have said would have made any difference at that point," she tells him. She has spent many hours examining those last few days, replaying every moment, wondering too, if it could have gone some other way. She never figured how. "I don't really want to talk about this."

"No," he agrees. But then goes on: "What I did was unforgivable, and I knew what I was doing. I thought trying to excuse it would be unfair and only cause you more pain. But lately I wonder if I was just being selfish again."

"No. I got it, then. It wasn't what you did _after_ I found out the truth that was the problem."

He nods, dropping his gaze to the floor of the van.

He gives Skye a little smile before sliding the door open to leave.

"Coulson..." she calls out, touching his arm a moment, the fabric of his suit surprisingly rough and stiff to the touch.

He looks at her from over his shoulder.

"Just because something is unforgivable it doesn't mean you can't ask for forgiveness," Skye tells him.

Coulson seems to think about it for a while.

"I guess not," he says.

And he leaves.

Miles comes by with the food. She's not that hungry.

Kaya comes by to ask for some money for a cab to the hospital. She's taking Paolo home.

It's better when Skye is alone again.

 

+

 

Skye feels like Miles is not paying attention to the good news of the mission, or the miracle that is the basket full of _clean_ clothes next to her bed. Fighting Nazis and doing the laundry, all in all a great afternoon for the forces of good. They should go out and celebrate. That's what she's been telling him and he should be more into it – Miles loves going out to celebrate, even when there is nothing to celebrate.

"Were you listening to me?" she says, digging her fingers playfully into his arm as he sits on the bed. "We have a place and a time for the exchange. Day after tomorrow, we get our chance. And this time we will get them – yes we will."

"No, yeah, that's so great," he says, totally healf-hearted.

"What is wrong with you?" Skye asks.

She tries to cheer him up by throwing a sock at him.

Lunch has been particularly awkward today, okay, she admits it, and it was probably her fault. But she called him here to share the good news.

She steps between his legs, resting her hands on his shoulders and he doesn't relax under the touch. Her question was a joke but now she senses something really is wrong here.

"Hey."

"You're going to break up with me, aren't you?" he asks all of the sudden, looking up at her.

"What the hell? Miles?"

He runs his fingers along her arm.

"Be honest, Skye."

She has absolutely no idea what is going on through that head of his and what could have prompted this.

"Why do you think I'm breaking up with you?" she asks him.

"Because I know that face. And because you asked me to come to your house. You never do that."

Skye crosses her arms at the absurdity.

"That's the only reason you think I'm going to break up with you? Because I invited you over?"

"And because you're not in love with me," Miles adds.

It shocks her that he could say that. It shocks her because Miles never talks like that. That's grown up talk. Has Miles become a grown up while she wasn't looking? That would be really unkind of him. That is why she loves him – loved him, the cow _boy_ with the golden smile and the brain that could crack any security system in the world but didn't know exactly what to do with that skill.

"Miles, I love you," she says, holding his face in her hands.

Miles smiles at her but it's definitely a grown-up smile.

"But you're not in love with me," he tells her. "And I'm okay with that, I would always be okay with that. But I know you, Skye. You're not going to half-ass something like this."

Now he looks sad, which is not a good look on him. But somehow Skye finds that his sadness is bearable.

"Six years ago, remember when we said we weren't going to do relationship drama?" she reminds him, because Skye and Miles, they are not like other couples, that was the deal. "How we said we were too cool for that?"

Miles chuckles at that, against his will.

He reaches out and runs his hand through Skye's hair, pushing it behind her ears.

"I've been watching you these past few days. I've been watching you, you've been a complete wreck. And I know why."

Skye touches his wrist, for comfort. She always liked the boy-ishness of his body, all perfect muscle and joy.

"No, you don't."

"You look so lonely," he says.

She _feels_ so lonely.

"It's not what you think," she tries to tell him, tries to tell herself.

"Skye, I'm not an idiot. Well, I'm a bit of an idiot. But we haven't had sex since the suit arrived in town."

"That doesn't have anything to do with anything."

"Doesn't it?"

She is about to protest that no, it doesn't.

But then she thinks about what Trip said this morning, about their last mission, about the team getting hurt, about Coulson getting shot. He could die out there and she wouldn't know and she realizes why the idea is so horrifying, why she froze when Trip told her.

And then she thinks about the strange guilt she feels every time she kisses Miles these days, like she is somehow cheating on Coulson, which stupid, stupid and useless and she doesn't need this stuff in her life and in her head and yet she can't help it.

"I think we should break up," she tells Miles.

He makes a "ha!" sound. "See? I told you."

She sits on the bed by his side and then she lies back, closing her eyes, not wanting to think or be here or have a heart. By the time she opens them again Miles is lying there too, by her side, with what can only be described as a benevolent look on his face. Fuck, he shouldn't know how to do that either. Then Skye realizes: of course he has grown up, he has been taking care of Kaya and Paolo just as much as she has, and it's been a long, long time since the Chan Ho Yin blunder, of course he's changed too.

Skye brings her fingers to his mouth, drawing the lines she knows so well.

"I've been treating you like shit," she says.

"No, you haven't."

"In my mind I have. But I needed to... compartimentalize."

Miles rolls his eyes. "SHIELD speak, great."

And god, she is not going to cry in front of Miles. Miles taught her to laugh at life's crap when she was drowning in it.

"No, you don't get it," she tells him. "He doesn't want me. He doesn't think about me that way. He never has."

Miles smiles, grabbing her by the hip gently and shaking her. "Then don't break up with me!"

"I wasn't going to," Skye shrugs at him. "You're the one who brought it up."

"Oh, right." He grins, almost, almost reaching his eyes. "I am a bit of an idiot."

"No argument here."

He arches one effective eyebrow. "But Coulson's a dick."

Skye snort-laughs.

"Yeah, no argument here either."

He brings his hand from her waist to her cheek, her hair.

"It sucks to lose you to the same guy twice," he says.

She's about to protest that it hasn't been the case but she realizes perhaps Miles is on to something. Perhaps this awful, disastrous thing was already there when Coulson dropped him in Hong Kong almost two years ago. She had felt in despair that night, so bereft, unable to contemplate a life without SHIELD already. Funny how things turn out.

"What's going to happen to the team?" Miles asks.

"Why does everybody assume I'm going to leave?"

"Aren't you?"

" _No_. Listen to me. You and Paolo and Kaya. I'm with you," she assures him. "I'm not going to walk out on you."

"Not even if he asks?"

She shakes her head. "He's not going to." 

"He's going bald, you know."

" _I know._ "

"And I'm so much taller." Skye laughs. "No, really. What is wrong with you?"

"I honestly don't know, Miles."

"You wanna say it out loud?" he asks.

"That I'm not in love with you?"

"No. The other thing."

Skye can't imagine ever saying it, only by omission. What would be the point, anyway?

"I can't, Miles. It's just – I can't."

"Shh, it's alright," he says, stroking her hair. It reminds Skye of how young she was when she met him for the first time. It makes her so nostalgic – Miles has become a decent enough guy and he wants her. Why can't it be enough? It was enough for old Skye. Old Skye would get whatever she could. Old Skye knew having was better than wanting. 

She closes her eyes. Better than crying.

When she opens them again Miles is gone.


	7. take another little piece of my heart

Paolo is lifting his black baseball cap to show Kaya the scars from his fight in the docks while Kaya looks appropriately impressed and grossed out. It's not really professional but Skye is glad they seem to be in high spirits for tomorrow.

"Did it hurt?" Kaya asks.

Paolo seems confused. "I don't remember." And he lets out a high-pitched chuckle. "But the doctor and nurses were nice."

On the other hand Miles just spent the whole morning asking if she was okay, like she was the one who got dumped. Skye feels like a horrible person for having woken up today more relaxed than she can remember, at least recently. Relieved that was done and over with.

"Were you paying attention? Do I need to repeat it?"

Kaya makes a mock salute, but Paolo is a lot more respectful.

"Well, just in case; we meet here at 1500 tomorrow. Agent Triplett will take the rooftop, with Director Coulson and me on the ground. Miles will cover the exits. You two stay in the van, keep track of every feed, coordinate with the Army if things come to that, but only _if_. Okay?"

She's not sure how to do this yet, and she feels intimately judged in the presence of Coulson and Trip as she gives the orders, they are the seasoned agents and who the hell is she to give them orders. She's not even part of SHIELD anymore. She can only copy what she has seen, remembering Coulson's manner around the holotable, a lifetime ago.

Everybody nods in agreement this time.

Trip actually makes a funny salute and calls her "boss" again as he walks away. Miles kisses her on the top of her head when he leaves, which feels really nice. They've always been better at friendship, anyway.

Skye lets out a sight. She feels more confident about actually going out on the field tomorrow than about all these preparations. It's part of her responsibility but so far she prefers thinking on her feet. Maybe she'll get used to it someday. Doesn't know how Coulson does it. She hopes she'll get better at it. She felt stiff the whole time, like she was reading from a script.

Coulson stays behind to talk to her, after making himself conspicuously absent in all but in body from mission discussion, not a single word for or against it.

"Hey," she calls, even though he is already here, almost right up in her face.

"Hey."

"Any questions about the plan? You don't... disagree. Right?"

She thinks it would destroy her confidence, if Coulson said she was doing it all wrong.

"No," he shakes his head. "You called it."

Skye remembers that face, though.

It was her last day in the Playground, bags packed and looking for a excuse that would allow her to stay, when she knew there was none. Leaving broke her heart but she knew staying would break more important things. She was used to the broken heart, anyway.

Nobody really wanted to speak to her that day, not really. Simmons inquired about her suitcase methods a lot and May promised to stay in touch about the symbols, it was brief but warm. Trip was waiting to drive her to the airport. Billy wanted to give her the plane ticket but Coulson took that task upon himself.

_"Are you sure you don't want us to drop you off?"_ he had asked as he handed her the ticket and part of her paycheck in cash so she could move around freely. _"We don't have a mission right now."_

_"No, please, it's fine. I wouldn't want you to waste Bus fuel on this. Thanks for paying for the trip, anyway._ "

_"Don't mention it."_

It was strange to end on that mundane note. Skye knew she didn't want any last minute gesture and it would have been out of character for Coulson anyway. The reality of what she was doing hadn't hit her yet. It wouldn't hit her for days. She wasn't sad – just kind of disappointed that the moment wasn't more... momentuous, she guessed.

Coulson just kept staring at her a lot, not saying anything else. He had this neutral expression on his face. Except it wasn't really neutral.

That's the face. Skye used to think it was cold, but she has had a lot of time to think about it. And she has had the last few days of Coulson being... really weird about the whole deal.

"It was great seeing you with your team like that," Coulson is saying now, gesturing towards the van and her various rousing speeches of the morning.

She doesn't feel like she deserves the kind words.

"I feel like a fraud, like I'm just playing a part." She doesn't know why she has gone back to a place where she can tell Coulson of her doubts, her insecurities, like she used to. Maybe she was right and she really is too tired to be angry all the time. Maybe seeing him here, having him back in her life, and watching him be supportive and kind and all the things she thought he was – but she can't afford to think about that.

"You're a great leader," he tells her. Skye finds herself smiling a bit at his tone. Coulson too, arching an eyebrow in self-deprecation at his own vehemence. "But then again, I always knew that."

"Don't pin that medal on yourself just yet."

He moves his hands, expressive with them as ever.

"I just meant it felt good to see you round up the troops like that. It feels like this is what you should be doing, you're where you belong."

The hint of sadness in his voice doesn't escape Skye. Neither does the troubled look on his face, which only lasts a moment, Coulson changes back into a benevolent smile, for her benefit. It seems like he has given up on trying to get her to come back. Trip said he had come here to make that offer but maybe he changed his mind at some point. That's what Skye wanted, after all. She told him not to ask. She should be happy, it shouldn't bother her. And it doesn't. But old habits die hard and it still breaks her heart to see Coulson this defeated, this sad.

 

+

 

Defeated and sad, that's how she finds him later that night.

And drinking.

It takes Skye a bit to figure out which bar Trip told her he had left Coulson in, upon his own insistence. _Director's orders, you know_ he had tried to explain, guiltily. It's not Trip's fault, of course, Coulson's a grown man.

When Skye enters the place she takes a moment to process the picture. Coulson drinking alone and the heat has gotten to him again, jacket folded on his lap, sleeves rolled up, slacked tie and he looks like shit, but that's not just the weather. She feels like maybe she should tell him, that he looks like shit, but before she decides Coulson has already spotted her walking down the bar to his stool.

"Tell Trip he's not my goddamn babysitter," he says as a greeting.

"Wow. Someone is taking his drinking seriously tonight."

He raises his glass of scotch, with pride.

"Yeah, but we should leave," Skye tells him.

"I'm fine where I am, thanks."

She looks around. This is not one of her usual spots, that's for sure.

It's not really that late and the place is already half-deserted, not even the tourists lured by the proximity of Bourbon Street want to touch this one. The decor is low-level kind of horrifying. It looks like a place for depressed and depressing old men to waste their days away – which, fair enough, could be a whole _genre_ but Skye is not so sure it's on purpose.

"This place is a dump," she tries to tell him. "A charming dump but..."

There's the music, though.

A version of "Piece of my heart" hangs in the stagnated air, eerily. Before coming to this town Skye didn't know Aretha Franklin had a sister who sang like this – hell, she didn't know much about Aretha Franklin except for being able to hum a couple of verses of "Respect" like everybody else on the planet. She stops to listen to this one for a moment; Coulson seems to be listening too, moving his thumb along the rim of his glass. She wonders which number this drink makes; for some reason she always imagined Coulson knew how to hold his liquor.

"Come on, we should really leave," she pushes.

"Have a drink, Skye. It's on me." He giggles at himself like he has just said something very witty. It's not all drunkeness, Skye realizes, that's not enough. He's in a state and alcohol is the palliative, not the cause.

"No, thanks," she says. She wants to tell him to pull himself together, but that's not something you would say to this particular ex-boss.

"Then I'll have one on you," Coulson declares and goes to raise his hand to alert the barman. 

Skye stops him, wrapping her fingers over his forearm. He looks down at it, at her hand on his shirt. He narrows his eyes at the contact, like he doesn't quite understand it. Skye withdraws, bothered by his reaction.

"I know the drop is not until tomorrow evening but I think this is highly unprofessional," she says, but tries to be kind about it. She's not here to shame him. God knows she's been in worse states herself, plenty of times.

This time Coulson lets out an ugly laugh.

"And I'm that, right? Highly professional. It's my one skill. My one saving grace, many would say."

"Really? I've never thought so."

"So you're saying... I don't have any saving grace?"

"No, I'm saying – come on. This is not like you. We're on a mission."

"Yeah, the mission," he repeats, derisive.

"What? There's something wrong with the mission?"

"No. The mission will go smoothly."

"Then what's the problem?" she asks.

Coulson looks at the ceiling for a moment, before trying to meet her eyes and failing, head down.

"We finish our mission tomorrow and then what?" he says, shrugging, and touching Skye's wrist for a second there. "I leave town and I don't see you in another seven months? A year? _Ever_? I can't bear it."

Skye has to make an effort not to let that get to her. He's just drunk. It could mean anything.

"Coulson... you're drunk."

"I'm sorry."

"Both are not mutually exclusive."

He laughs again. Then he gets this awful sobered-up expression on his face and he finally looks at Skye for a moment.

"I know they are just words at this point. But I am sorry," he says. Skye freezes. "And I know I've been selfish coming here. I know you didn't want to see my face ever again and I haven't respected that and I wanted to see you and I'm a fuck up. I'm so sorry."

He draws his hand over his face and breaks down and though in this city there's plenty of seeing grown men crying in bars and Coulson is nowhere near the most undignified of them Skye decides it's enough, it's Coulson, cool and collected and _highly professional_ Phil Coulson, it's just too shocking, seeing him like this.

"I think we should get you to bed," she says, grabbing his hand. "My house is not that far, come on."

 

+

 

"I... I just... _I can't_."

She watches him try to undo the laces on his shoes and then give up with a gesture of exasperation. It's pitiful. He had done pretty well climbing up the stairs to the third floor without Skye's help. But suddenly his body seems set on not following his commands.

"It's okay, let me," Skye says, planting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him on to the bed.

She takes off his shoes and then she pulls at his tie until it comes away free and Coulson lets out a rather cat-like sound of enjoyment at that. He's drunk enough for it. Maybe she should help him out of his pants but she decides this is as far as it goes. She needs to set some limits, for herself mostly.

"You should be fine now. Go to sleep."

"Skye..." he calls, grabbing her shirt between his thumb and his index.

She turns around. He has his eyes half-closed but he is trying to focus on her face anyway, trying to fight exhausting and tiredness.

"I'm sorry," he says.

This time it sounds less frustrated, but a lot more desperate.

"You've said that," she replies gently. She doesn't want the conversation to happen like this.

Coulson shakes his head.

"And I could say it every day for the rest of my life and it wouldn't be e-... Skye, _Skye_ , I'm sorry."

And as much as the perspective of a grovelling Coulson would have sounded delightful a couple of months ago the truth is Skye can't stand to see him in pain. She never intended to punish him with this. She takes his hand and pulls is away from her, placing it on his chest. She tries to push him back on the bed and after some drunken struggle he finally lies his head on the pillow and Skye can pull the blanket over him, crouching by his side. She squeezes his shoulder a moment, leaving her hand there.

"Try to get some sleep. Okay?"

He nods, a little childishly. By the time Skye stands up from where she is Coulson is already fast asleep and snoring gently against her bedsheets.

She grabs her pajama pants and an old t-shirt from the closet and another blanket and walks to the living room in a hurry.

At first she thinks she won't be able to sleep with him in the next room, how bizarre the situation is, and the weight of her own feelings, but she is tired and soon she sinks into sweet oblivion, even on the not-so-comfortable leather couch Miles bought for her on craigslist. Forget this whole mess for a few hours of brilliant unconsciousness, it's all she's asking.

 

+

 

Skye always sleeps light so of course two hours later she is awoken to some unfamiliar noises in her kitchen.

For a moment when she opens her eyes she has forgotten all about last night and she figures she's being burgled or something. Then – _Coulson_. She wonders whether that's better or worse than burglars.

She walks to the kitchen, quietly, not knowing in which state she is going to find him.

He seems alert enough that he notices her walk into the room, and when he looks up from the table Skye can see that at least he looks better.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he says, looking uncomfortable but sounding sober. "Or Miles."

Skye guesses she has to tell him about that.

"Miles is not here. We are not... we're not together anymore. Not like that."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Coulson says and it sounds like he actually means it.

She shifts her weight from one bare foot to the other, not knowing what to say in this extraordinary situation.

Coulson looks at the open french window. "What's that smell?"

"Jasmine, it blooms at night," she replies, remembering how long it took her to get used to that.

"Ah."

Then she notices what he had in his hands – his file, his updated file, with the photographs spread on the table.

Apparently she didn't lock the drawer the last time she sat here looking at the papers.

"You didn't mean to wake me but... Did you mean to pry?"

"Sorry," he says half-assedly. "I'm a bit confused about this."

"You knew May was sending me the updates."

"Yeah, but you've advanced the work on your own."

She comes closer, though the table is still between them.

"Actually, I have a couple of leads in Russia – about those drawings Ward photographed that time. Todorov Building. Remember? I'm waiting on a couple of things and it can be a wild goose chase I know. But maybe there's something there. I was going to tell you, I promise."

"It's not that," he says. His voice sounds weird, thin. "Has something happened?"

"What? No. I just – I'm working on this." She can't understand why he looks so surprised.

"But you are fine. You are," he repeats, frightened. "You are not displaying any symptoms –"

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine, it's not that," she corrects him, quickly, now that she realizes why he looked so scared. To be honest Skye doesn't think she is in any danger of developing the same symptoms Coulson has; but no reassurance has ever been enough for Coulson. That's why he hid the truth from her in the first place, to minimize that risk. Or at least that's what he thought he was doing.

Skye watches him run his fingers along the border of one of the photographs. He still looks confused. 

"Then... why all this work?"

"What do you mean why? To _help you_."

Coulson seems at a complete loss when he hears that. He lets the picture he was holding slip and it falls with a soft noise back on the kitchen table.

"I don't understand..."

Of course he doesn't.

Skye sighs and walks around the table to his side, to face him.

"Coulson," she starts, because despite everything he has to know this. How can he not realize this? "Just because I left, just because I walked away, that doesn't mean I've stopped worrying about you. That I've stopped... _caring_ about you."

He narrows his eyes at the word like it's a very alien, very unexpected thing. Skye brings her hand to his cheek. It's hot, even hotter when Coulson covers her touch with his own fingers and closes his eyes against the caress, pressing his face to it.

They stand like for a moment, until Skye cannot longer follow caution and common sense and her last shred of self-preservation melts under the four o'clock light and she presses her mouth to Coulson's, drawing a sigh of relief or damnation at _finally_.

She doesn't know what she expects his reaction to be. She is gentle about it, tasting the bitter trace of liquor on his lips, thinking that anything will be enough, even if he hates her for this. She doesn't know what she expects Coulson's reaction to be but she knows she doesn't expect him to grab her waist with bruising intensity and open his mouth to cover her in a proper, passionate kiss of his own. Skye stumbles against the table, curling her fingers into his forearm as she backs them both into it.

Coulson moans when their bodies meet, lifting Skye by the hips until she's sitting on the kitchen table and he is pushing between her legs and everything is happening too fast and not fast enough for Skye. She sinks into his mouth. Some photographs fall to the floor and neither of them cares.

"Jesus, Skye, I..." Coulson mutters as his fingers splay at the small of her back, thumb at her side.

"I know," she says, even though she doesn't.

He pulls her to the edge of the table as Skye wraps her legs around him, feeling his hard-on pressed against her thin pajama pants. She rolls her hips as much as she can in this position, trying to get some more friction and frustrated because he is not already inside her.

She hasn't felt this visceral need to fuck since she was nineteen or so, this urgency to just feel the other person and keep them closer than it's humanly possibly. She is sweaty and sticky and not just from the heat – her whole body itches or aches or somewhere in between, like she had fallen asleep on the beach and gotten sunburnt. She spent so much energy trying not to imagine how touching Coulson (and him touching her) would feel like that now that it's happening a part of her brain refuses to believe and just shuts down. She wants to tell Coulson that he might have broken her, in the best possible sense.

But then he has his hands pressed against her ass, pulling her to him and almost off the table, panting into a seemingly endless kiss, and her brain catches up with her, almost too fast.

Skye pulls her t-shirt over her head, which is when she remembers she went to sleep with her bra still on because somehow she felt embarrassed to take off her underwear when Coulson was sleeping in the next room, in the same house. He thumbs her ribcage and bends down to suck a kiss against her neck. She can feel herself lose all control under that mouth, those kisses along her collarbone. He draws a breath when he sees the scars – he's seen them before, recently, but not like this – and he traces the outline with his index finger. She grabs him by the hair and makes him stop looking and start kissing her again, her jaw, her neck.

"Umm, Coulson?"

He stops, coming up to look at her with a frightened expression, like he suspects he's done something wrong.

"What?"

"As much as I'm loving the whole sex-on-the-kitchen-table thing," she smiles at him. It doesn't seem to relax him completely, she can still feel his heart pounding against her chest like a caged animal, fluttering. "My bed is right there and it's really comfortable and really big. Well, you should know, you stole it from me tonight."

She can see him think about it, she feels his hands hold on to her quite tightly, like he fears that moving from this room is going to break whatever spell has brought her to him. Skye smiles at his indecision and moves her mouth over his slowly, kissing him to reassure him.

"Of course," he finally says, stepping back and offering his hand to her.

She jumps off the table cheerfully and laces her fingers with his and it's almost her favorite moment so far, leading Coulson through the hallway while he clutches her hand so tenderly, squeezing from time to time like he's making sure she's there or like he's making sure Skye knows he is here, with her, following.

But as soon as they are in the bedroom the little quiet moment is over and Coulson is again grabbing her by the waist and attacking her mouth and growling when she pulls away – but taking back the complaint when Skye turns around so that he can unclasp her bra. They fall or push each other onto the bed after that, Coulson's hands not leaving her breasts for a while, his breath so hot on her stomach as he undoes the laces of her pajama pants, and pushes them and her underwear down her ankles. He's sweating when Skye finds his forehead with the tips of her fingers.

"Come on, Coulson, let's – you know."

"Wait, wait a moment, let me," he says, smirking from between her legs and when he sinks two fingers into her already evident arousal Skye doesn't complain anymore.

"Oh, okay, go on," she tells him between long breaths.

Coulson smirks again – she has been dreaming about that smirk, she admits – and starts trailing kisses on her knee and the inside of her leg as his thumb rubs against her clit. He knows what he's doing, Skye never doubted it for one second.

He gets her off embarrassingly quick, biting at the top of her thigh while he fucks her with his fingers.

She feels better afterwards, still wanting him like crazy, still needing him inside her as soon as possible, but that took the edge off and she can actually focus on the details now, and she can linger a moment, playing with the damp hair at the back of his neck.

When he comes up, laying kisses across her belly and breasts to make her shiver, she realizes that he's basically still dressed and she decides to remedy that immediately, pulling his undershirt off him in a moment.

And she's seen his scar once before but not like this. He trembles a bit but then he smiles, grabbing her hair just like she did and pulling her against his wet mouth. But Skye wants to _see_ , she has wanted to see him for a long time, and he is gorgeous in all the expected ways when she pushes him away a bit and runs her hands over his chest.

Her fingertips find and pause over the dark bruise on his collarbone, noticeable even in this half light.

"I got shot the other week," he explains.

"Trip told me," she says, pressing her thumb to it, riping a complicated moan from Coulson. "Were you scared?"

"I was terrified," he admits. "Because I thought I could die without ever seeing you again."

He means it – he means it too much. But she feels the same so she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him down for another kiss like she's trying to make sure he's alive through it, biting his lower lip and pressing their bodies to close that she's sure she's knocked the air out of his lungs.

Eventually he does have to get rid of more clothes so he sits on his knees and fumbles with his belt for a moment.

"You're nervous," Skye points out, staring at his trembling hands.

"Ha," Coulson snorts, offended, and gets out of his pants at impressive speed after that.

"Aw," she still mocks him, wrapping her fingers around him and teasing tiny groans out of him with each touch.

He grabs her wrist soon, too soon, stopping the fun.

"Condoms?" he asks.

"Yeah, right, good," she suddenly remembers, crawling across the bed to reach the nightstand. Coulson watches her tear the wrapping and roll the condom over his cock like it's the most fascinating thing that's ever happened to him an she wonders exactly how long it's been for him and gives him a dirty, open-mouthed kiss and a careful stroke as reward.

She lies on her back again, bringing Coulson with her until she's comfortably wrapped around his waist.

"Skye, I –" he sounds apologetic.

"What?"

"I just... I've been wanting this for so long and I drank a lot last night," he says, throwing a self-pitying smile her way. "And you are so beautiful. I'm afraid I'm going to make a fool of myself here."

Skye grins, touched beyond words by his sudden attack of humility and her hands cup either side of his neck tenderly.

"Coulson, it's okay," she says, and she wants him to want her so much that he's overwhelmed. It doesn't have to be perfect between them this first time. Because it already is perfect. "Would you feel better if I told you this is already the best night of my life?"

Coulson frowns.

"I would be worried about what that says of your previous sexual partners," he replies, rather arrogantly.

Skye laughs. "Okay, Director, I think you're going to be just fine."

He kisses her and the comedy is over, he kisses with what seems to be all of his heart and soul. Skye doesn't like to get sappy often but that's how she feels right now.

"Skye?" Coulson says, like he is asking for permission or something equally absurd.

She arches her body into him and they do what they have always done, they meet halfway. She can't help an embarrassing moan when he pushes all the way into her and Coulson can't help but smirk at that like the insufferable fool he is. Skye of course needs to retaliate and when she squeezes around him he concedes defeat with a wonderful whimpering wet noise escaping his lips. The fight is over, it's the best kind of truce when he holds her face in his hands for a moment, drawing his fingers across her cheek and looking at her like he wants to tell her he loves her but is not sure he has earned it yet. He must have decided against that, but Skye doesn't mind one bit when he starts moving inside her again, because she can feel it anyway and Coulson was right, he doesn't last long but neither does she, _again_ , coming underneath him with her hand tightly entwinned with his and panting against his neck, laughing softly afterwards.

 

+

 

She can't help feel a bit of disappointment at waking up alone in her big bed (which still smells like Coulson, which is good, and of sex, which is better, and a bit of scotch, which is not so great) the next morning. Or, well, a couple hours later. It's barely dawn. She doesn't remember much of the end of it because she was out in a moment like a baby, but she has the feeling that wrapping one arm around Coulson's waist and falling asleep against the curve of his back was one of the highlights of it all. She would have wanted to wake up to that.

But then she hears noises coming from the kitchen and at least now she knows he hasn't run away. Or it could be burglars again, who knows.

"I thought you had abandoned me," she says when he finds him leaning over the kitchen counter.

Coulson turns around – this time he didn't hear her walk in and he looks startled and delighted. He grins at her. Actually grins, and Skye can hardly believe it.

"Sorry, I was trying to... coffee?" Coulson explains.

" _Nice_."

"I'm not sure how to operate this infernal apparatus, though," he says, still smiling at Skye, and shaking his head at the old-school dripping pot she has for coffee machine.

She smells the chicory too, which means Coulson is not as ignorant of the local customs as he might have implied, or that he has done some research at least, choosing the one tin can from Café Du Monde Skye has over the other, less cliched options in her cupboard. 

He looks different today, like a different man altogether. On one hand he _should_ look like shit, in yesterday's clothes and with rings around his eyes from lack of sleep. But he also looks... good. More like the Phil Coulson she used to know before he made Director. Although not exactly that because he's her lover now – Skye likes that all-encompassing word. Coulson is her lover. It's amazing and accurate and Skye wants to tread carefully not to disturb that.

He places two mugs of coffee on the table, putting his hand on Skye's shoulder urging her to sit. The touch is electrifying. The easiness with which Coulson is doing this. Apparently he's very good at morning-afters. Or maybe it's just with her.

He sits by her side and immediately looks for her hand over the table, lacing their fingers together and playfully. Skye has a flashback to last night, when she was leading him to the bedroom and she could feel his heart in how tightly his palm was pressed against hers. She feels the same thrill now, even if the wave of desire is quieter somehow, more tender and less desperate. She wants to take her time with him, with this.

"Do you want to talk about what will happen after today? After the mission is over?" she asks him. "I mean I don't want to assume things about last night, but I feel like it's pretty obvious that–"

"I love you," Coulson says, very quietly, but somehow it sounds pretty loud in this kitchen early in the morning. Most of New Orleans hasn't waken up yet and here this ridiculous man is telling her he loves her.

Skye nods and leans to press her mouth against his.

"I see someone has found my spare toothbrush," she comments, after the slow, open-mouthed kiss.

"I hope you don't mind."

She shakes her head, kissing him again. She feels oddly excited by the idea of Coulson doing something as trivial and domestic as brushing his teeth in her bathroom. She's really not an ambitious girl: she is content with this, kissing someone she loves in her kitchen with morning light pouring through the windows.

"So? Are you going to offer me my job at SHIELD back or what?" she asks, but she also can't stop kissing him long enough to wait for his answer. She can't help it, now that she is allowed to kiss him she doesn't feel like giving up that privilege even for a second.

"Skye..." he breaks the kiss, touching her face. Yes, she loves those rough hands, calloused from decades of training – she gets easily distracted. Coulson is looking at her quite seriously, though, drawing a breath before he speaks. "I can't ask you to leave your team. I can't do that."

She wouldn't leave them anyway, but it means a lot that Coulson is saying it, that he can't ask. She hadn't let herself dream of going back to SHIELD but now that it's a possibility Skye knows exactly what she wants to do.

"I could come here," Coulson says. 

She laughs.

"You?"

"Yes, I could move here," he repeats, and it's light but it's not completely a joke. "Move the whole of SHIELD here."

"You want to move to New Orleans?"

He pushes her hair behind her shoulder, moving his fingers across the skin of her neck.

"I couldn't stand being away from you, Skye," he tells her in a pained voice. "I don't care what I have to do."

"That's very nice of you. Also, corny, but we'll work on that. No, I had another solution in mind."

He leans back on his chair. "I'm all ears."

"I go back to SHIELD," she says and it's almost painful, how happy he looks at that and how much he tries to hide it. "But I bring in my team. And we are independent."

"Independent. What do you mean?"

"We work together but as equals. We work together but you're SHIELD and we are Rising Tide. You are the Director of SHIELD and I'm the leader of the Rising Tide."

"So I'm not your boss," he fills in the details.

"No," Skye says, touching the inside of his wrist. "You won't be my boss anymore. And maybe that way this will work out. Because I want _this_ to work out. So badly."

She kisses him again, to make the point. And because she wants to. And because she never wants to stop kissing him. And because she wants to kiss him every morning from now on.

"One more thing," she says.

Coulson frowns, like he's annoyed that they have to stop kissing. "What?"

"I'm going to ask Miles to come with me. I don't know if he will want to, after... everything. But I have to ask him."

"Yeah, of course," Coulson says, like it's nowhere near a problem.

"I love you, too," Skye tells him, quietly.

That face, yeah, she's never seen him make that face. He strokes her hair, very carefully, barely touching his fingers to the loose strand over her cheek.

"So. What do you think about my plan?" Skye asks.

"I think... I'll tell Agent Koenig to start working on some new laynards."

She knows it's a great plan, but she's glad Coulson agrees.

"Settled then. I'm on your payroll again. Just give me a couple of weeks to sort things out here and I'll fly there."

"A _couple of weeks_?" he repeats, like it's completely offensive to him.

He catches her hand over the table and squeezes it.

"Needy, aren't we," she teases, pressing her thumb against the ridge of his knuckle.

"No, it's not that..."

But it is that.

"Coulson. You just spent seven months without seeing me because you were an idiot so, you're in no position to make demands."

He looks down at their hands. "I know. And we should talk about that."

"We will," Skye agrees, but sensing it's going to be an easier conversation than she had anticipated.

She moves to the edge of her chair, invading Coulson's space and burying her face into his neck for a moment. It's nice like that. She can feel his stubble against her temple, it's sexy. And it's that hour of the morning when it's even a bit breezy, not suffocating yet.

But it doesn't last. She stands up and takes his hand, pulling him up with her.

"As much as I'd like to stay here and defile my kitchen some more..." she tells him. "I have a responsibility to my team and I need to get ready for today. And you need to go back to your hotel and take a shower and hope Trip doesn't ask too many questions."

He chuckles, finding his jacket perched over the couch and letting Skye lead him to the door. 

"Good luck to me with that. He's been insufferable the whole journey." Then he looks at Skye seriously, running his hand along the curve of her shoulder. "I guess he could see how badly I..."

He trails off, threading his fingers through Skye's hair and looking regretful about many things. Skye takes his hand in her and kisses all those bad memories away for the moment. She only wants to think about the future now. Whatever mess there was between them at least it has led them here, right here and to this moment by Skye's door.

"See you on the field, okay?"

He nods. "We've got your back."

Skye flattens her hand against his chest and leans on him for one last morning kiss. Now it's her generic mint toothpaste mixed with coffee. It shouldn't affect her as much as it does. She has to let him leave now or else they'll be here all day. Which would be nice, if it weren't for the fact that there are HYDRA agents in town and they have to take care of that first.

She steps back, watching Coulson open the door, back to her.

He turns around, clothes a mess, hair a mess, but his usual self, his jacket over his shoulder and looking classic Hollywood handsome and smiling at Skye.

"The Director of SHIELD and the leader of the Rising Tide, uh?"

"You like how that sounds?" Skye asks, crossing her arms.

"Very much."

And he leaves. But it's the good kind of leaving.


	8. The Education of Phillip J Coulson

He shields his eyes from the morning light for a moment, the anonymous street empty in front of him.

He should be tired, destroyed, hangover and _sore_.

He is none of those things.

He feels... _good_ , if the word was enough. Seven months shrink under the warmth of the sun. He would walk to the hotel if he had any idea of how to get there.

Coulson imagines the whole city can tell what happened last night by looking at his face. He imagines every pedestrian he crosses – which aren't that many, thankfully – can guess; he imagines every front door, every column, ever rooftop and even the damned pavement can somehow know what has happened to him. They can see him as a different man than the one he has been these past seven months, or longer. He himself imagines himself another person, another man, younger and healthier and a lot less brusied and bruisable.

 

+

 

He finds Trip in the hotel restaurant, finishing his breakfast. 

"What's the opposite of a walk of shame?" he says.

Coulson sighs. That's really improper but if someone has earned it that person is Trip. He has had first row seats for the spectacle of Coulson slowly falling apart for seven months. And not just this mission. Yes, he's had his beers with Hunter, and he's had the quiet companionship of May, but Trip has been a good sounding board. It helped knowing that Trip had taken Skye's side in the argument from the beginning. He wonders if he really means it about the walk of shame or if he's just teasing him. Coulson feels heat in his face, like he's sure everybody having their continetal breakfasts in this room know exactly what happened to him last night. Yes, _to_ him.

"Agent Triplett."

"Sorry, sir," Trip says, back in his subordinate role. "Crossed a line."

"You did," Coulson agrees but, knowing he himself has done far more unprofessional things in the course of this week he lets it go. "Have you informed your contact in the Army?"

"All set up."

"Good, I would hate to have to fly home with two HYDRA agents in cuffs sitting with me on the plane."

He leaves Trip to the rest of his breakfast and goes upstairs to catch a couple more hours of sleep, if he can.

He can't, not at first. He's still too excited. He would have wanted to stay in that kitchen with Skye longer, so much longer. His heart leaps when he thinks about it.

She said she loved him.

 

+

 

Of course by the time the mission approaches he is full of doubts again. He's too old, too sick for this. He's probably going to go insane soon. The same reasons why he kept secrets from Skye in the first place are still just as valid. He might hurt her.

This is too much, that's the other thing. This is too intense and he doesn't have the stamina for it. He has to take care of the whole world. He's in love but that changes nothing – he has work to do, and he can't do it with his head and his heart somewhere else. He has HYDRA and his own condition to fight. He's sure Skye will understand.

(no, he's sure she won't, but she'll accept it anyway, to help him out)

By the time he and Trip roll into the drop site (again too public, he doesn't like it) he has half a mind to tell Skye that they should forget it, that last night was a mistake, that things are not going to work out if they keep on that path. He's rehearsed speeches in his mind. They are good speeches – to make Skye see how it's safer that they relate on a purely professional way, and how their feelings in these case don't matter.

It's better if he ends this now than further along the road.

By the time the suspects arrive at the scene Coulson has convinced himself this is the right choice.

 

+

 

It's when he sees the bruise on her cheek that he decides he has been an idiot.

The second HYDRA agent did offer some resistance and Skye must have been training all these months because she is able to reduce a guy twice her size, and knock him out, even after being thrown against one of the columns of the boulevard, cheekbone first.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she says when Coulson reaches her side. He's taken the local guy and Trip has taken care of the other HYDRA agent. He's not a fan of using guns in public, even ICERs, but sometimes it can't be helped.

Skye's okay, of course, she can handle herself. But as soon as Coulson sees that bruise on her face he decides to throw away the rehearsed speech about how they can't be in a relationship, how it could never work out between them like that. He was just being a coward, as usual. He wants to be with Skye. How could he have thought the rest mattered at all? The rest is so inconsequential, so tiny against the magnitude of what he feels.

He's being selfish but selflessness hasn't worked so far.

 

+

 

The post-mortem, so to speak, goes on long enough.

SHIELD is _technically_ no longer a terrorist organization, that doesn't mean the Army is suddenly in love with them. In a way Coulson will always miss Talbot – at least with Talbot he knew what to expect: nothing. The old tactic of giving other agencies all the credit seems to be a solid one, so far.

Coulson stays back in the van, talking to Paolo and Kaya while Trip makes the exchange.

"I know you guys don't like to be caught on camera," the girl is telling him. "So we are erasing the online logs. Places that are still doing analog, we can't do anything about those, but I don't think that's going to be a problem."

He can see why Skye likes these kids. Apart from the obvious – they both remind him of Skye in their own particular but obvious ways. But there's also the fact that they seem to be good, capable professionals, despite their youth. He can see them being assets to SHIELD. He's already doing that in his mind, treating them as colleagues.

"Well, thanks for the help," he tells them.

Paolo half-smiles but Kaya just looks at Coulson, like she is seizing him up. He notices she's wearing the bunch of silvery bracelets Skye used to wear sometimes, back in the day. 

"You told them already," he asks Skye afterwards, when they are alone, waiting for the scene to clear.

"Yeah. We had a meeting this morning. It was good."

"They agree to come over?"

"And pretty excited about it, too. I must have talked you guys up more that I realized," Skye says, and seems embarrassed about it for a moment. "Miles said he had to think about it."

"That's fine. Tell Mr Lydon it's an open-ended offer."

She touches the back of her neck awkwardly.

"Well, he put two and two together so he's a bit... not happy about the whole thing right now."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

"You kinda did, though," she says, smirking.

He looks away. He truly didn't mean to. He came here with no expectations. Or rather he came here with _no hopes_. And he wants to say that he is a good enough man that he would have never kissed Skye back last night, if she hadn't broken up with Miles. Part of him believes that too. But he's been a fuck up in the past, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd done this or worse.

"I'm still sorry," he tells Skye and she nods, which is good enough for now and he will try to do better, be better.

"When are you leaving town?" she asks.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn't want to leave town. He doesn't care about leaving town, he doesn't want to _leave her_.

"Trip is going up north to help Hunter and Simmons," he explains. "I catch a later flight back home tonight."

He watches her copy him, put her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and do that thing where she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's hesitating.

"Do you think you could change the ticket and leave tomorrow morning?" she asks, not meeting his eyes for a moment. "Or is your presence very much necessary in the Playground tonight?"

"My presence is always very much necessary."

Skye rolls her eyes. "Okay, _Director_. You know what I mean."

The idea of spending another night here, or – he doesn't want to be presumptuous but he knows what this means – spending another night with Skye. Now he could consider that a necessity. He's almost about to make that joke but Skye knows all about his sense of humor already, he is going to try to be a bit smoother about this. He can do it. 

"I could change it," he tells her, a bit coy. "Why?"

"Because I want to take you out to dinner, properly. And to have a drink. Maybe even take you dancing."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

She looks a bit embarrassed. She's virtually asking for a date. This is not normally how he does things, of course – here Coulson doesn't have the excuse of that layer of smooth man of the world he can normally fall back on. She knows him too well for that. If he is trying to impress her – and god he is, isn't he – it's for entirely different reasons.

The bruise on her cheek has gone from red to purple in a few minutes. He reaches to touch it.

"I'm okay," she says, but letting him caress her anyway. "Stop freaking out and give me an answer."

"I'd like to go out with you tonight, yes."

 

+

 

He calls Trip a cab for the airport and thank god he doesn't say anything shaming like "good luck on your date" or anything even though Coulson is pretty sure he can smell it on him – like literally smell it on him because Coulson spent forty minutes in the shower wrestling with a succession of attacks of insecurity and bravado about it, finishing the hotel's offer of shower gels and shampoos in the proccess, a depressing pep talk in front of the mirror followed by a depressing inner monologue about why the hell he didn't pack something other than dark suits, he wanted to wear something lighter tonight.

But yes, at least Trip didn't make a comment.

 

+

 

"Here's something of New Orleans in which I might be a bigger expert than you," he tells her when Skye finally –it is early but Coulson is just anxious to see her– gets to the hotel bar.

He orders a drink for her.

"Yeah?"

"Sazerac," he says. 

"Ah. Well, yes, I'm not much of a cocktail girl."

He widens his eyes at her. Coulson definitely is a cocktail guy.

"Savage," he says.

She smiles at him. It already feels like a date, which is astounding, because this is Skye. It's also like no date he's been in, at least in a really long time. He can't make a guess about what kind of plans Skye has for the evening (and yes, it's a thrill, to be in her hands), much less based on her clothes. She wears... Skye clothes. He has noticed, these past few days, that she has gone back to wearing the kind of stuff she did before he recruited her and for the first year; jeans and loose t-shirts. Not the mission gear she started wearing after they moved to the Playground. She has kept the bangs but she doesn't do her hair up like when she went on the field. She's even gone back to wearing that light gold eyeshadow. He noticed this about her as soon as he saw her again. She looks different but not like before. She looks different like _now_.

This might be a date but she is not wearing anything special or different. On one hand he prefers it – it puts him at ease, it reminds him that he knows Skye (and she said she loved him, he tries to remember). On the other hand it throws into question the handful of minutes he spent picking between three suits in different shades of black. 

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" she asks, bold. "Or you don't do public places? Which is okay, by the way, whatever you want."

He most definitely doesn't do public places, but he kisses her anyway.

It's good to know that he wasn't making things up in his mind and kissing Skye feels like this.

When he pulls away – wondering what the other guests in the hotel would make of a couple like them, hating himself for thinking about it – Skye has the most unworldy, pleased smile he's ever seen. He doesn't deserve it in the least but it feels so good to have provoked it.

"One thing, though," she adds.

"What?"

She reaches her hand to his tie, loosening the knot and then undoing it.

"This has to go," she says, slipping it off him and folding it very neatly. She puts it in the pocket of her leather jacket, like a punishment and he'll get it back after class, and Coulson can't stop looking at her fingers, those fingers and the cute pale pink nail polish, and also Coulson can't stop thinking about last night.

He leans into her, resting one hand on Skye's waist, trying to resist an incapacitating urge to pull her to him.

"Are you sure you want to go out?" he asks. "We could go back to your place and..."

He tries to make his point sucking a long kiss under her right ear. And he is pathetic, isn't he. He is this close to begging. He just wants to be alone with her. Last night wasn't enough; last night wasn't _nearly_ enough. He wonders if anything could ever be.

"We'll go back to my place," she promises. " _Eventually_. Don't worry, soldier. The chances of you getting lucky tonight are pretty high."

He laughs. He has never had to worry about that before. Not to be arrogant, but his chances tend to be high all around. This is Skye, though, it's strange to think about her in those terms.

"But it was a good idea," she adds, "having a drink before dinner. The bar is not as depressing as the hotel itself."

"I'm used to depressing hotels," he confesses.

"I guess you are," Skye says, her voice thinner. "I wish you had told me about it then. Crappy hotels and miserable flights in tourist class. You could have told me so many things. I wanted to hear them."

Coulson purses his lips. He's wasted so much time. And time is the one thing he might not have, a voice in the back of his mind keeps reminding him. He had wanted to tell her, so badly. He had wanted to pick the phone and tell her all about the horror of middle-range hotels so Skye could call him out on his fussiness and remind him that she lived in a van for two years. That's all he had wanted. It was her voice he had wanted to hear all those months ago, though maybe he didn't know it or maybe he couldn't allow himself to know it.

He touches her shoulder.

"I should have told you," he confesses. He doesn't have anything else to say about it. Just his mistakes.

Skye nods, getting this really lonely look and Coulson hates knowing it's all because of him.

"Talk shop for a minute?" she proposes.

Coulson leans back against the bar.

"Shoot."

"I know HYDRA is still a priority but it's been over a year since old SHIELD fell," Skye says. "We should be thinking about the kind of stuff we _want_ to do, not just the stuff we have to do. Makes sense?" He nods. Skye goes on. "We have to get started on the Index again, but this time is going to be different. It shouldn't be a way to control people. I mean, there's prevention to think about, of course. But we can't tell people what to do, not with the world knowing all about SHIELD and HYDRA and what _gifted_ means. Contaiment shouldn't be the priority. We can't start from fear, that was the mistake SHIELD made in the first place."

He's not sure what this says about him – what it says about them – but Coulson thinks Skye has never looked so sexy. The leader of the Rising Tide indeed. And the heart of SHIELD. She can be both at the same time.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

I'd always look at you like this, Coulson thinks, if I could.

"I like it when you talk shop," he says instead, trying to distract her with a bit of flirting.

Skye arches an eyebrow. "You're being very magnanimous, I'm sure you have a ton of suggestions and complaints about this already."

"A couple. I'm glad to see you still think about SHIELD."

"I never stopped," she tells him, meaning it. "All this time I still considered myself a SHIELD agent, through and through."

"Me too," he admits. It doesn't feel very safe to, but he owes it to her. "These past months, not every day but pretty often I would wake up thinking of the daily briefing and wanting to hear your opinion on the new missions. Then I remembered."

"Yeah, well," she takes another sip of her glass, eyes hardened. "I'm still pissed off at you. Like, really angry."

"I know. I know I have a lot of work to do."

"Just because you gave me a couple of orgasms that doesn't mean –"

"They were spectacular ones, though," Coulson teases her.

Skye shakes her head, but almost laughing. "You're such a cad."

"That word makes me feel old," he tells her.

She gives him _a look_ , calling him on that age bullshit. She touches her fingers to his face, though, as some sort of reassurance, caressing his cheek tenderly.

"You shaved again," she points out.

"This is a date," Coulson argues.

"And you like that? You're a date kind of guy? I'm just trying to figure out how you do these things."

It occurs to him that Skye might be nervous, too. She shouldn't think she's in a position of disadvantage, after the hell he's put her through this past year. But he doesn't think he's wrong in assuming she hasn't been in many dates lately. Proper dinner and going out doesn't seem to feature very prominently in Skye's history.

"Last night..." he starts. He should regret how last night went down, he knows, that's no way of doing things. He was broken and miserable and Skye shouldn't have had to see him like that. "That's not how I wanted things to happen. I would have liked something more–"

Skye kisses him.

And fair enough, he doesn't know what kind of lie would have come out next. Something more what? Proper? He wants to regret last night but he _can't_.

And now he's here, in this anonymous hotel bar and for the first time in ages he doesn't care about that, or any of the hundred lonely nights in second rate hotels he spent in last year thinking that his life was over. It's not over, apparently. Not when Skye is kissing him like this.

"Last night was perfect," she tells him.

God he agrees.

Then she stands up and offers her arm to him.

"Come on," she says. "We have a dinner date."

 

+

 

He follows her through parks and streets and shortcuts, through crowds of strangers, through dodgy neighborhoods, holding her hand, Skye tugging at his, pulling him along, and that means something. He watches her back, her hair, her beautiful hair. What did he think when he first met her? Did he think she was beautiful? Sure, but in a clinical way. He was trying to find an angle, he was trying to profile her. She defied profiling. She still does. She's not a mystery – he is no longer interested in those. He knows her as well as he knows himself. She is familiar. She is a surprise. Did he think about this when he first met Skye? About walking in the streets of a strange city, his body held only by her hands and her love? No, he couldn't have known.

"Skye?" he calls out when they've been walking a while.

The truth is he just wants her to turn around so he can see her face.

She turns around.

"What?"

He can see her face. He wants to tell her he'd follow her, like this, anywhere.

"Is it far? Where are you taking me?" he asks instead.

She just gives him a smile and turns around again and her beautiful hair becomes his whole world again, all that he can see in front of him.

 

+

 

"I thought you were going to take me to dinner."

"This is dinner."

"This is a house. Somebody's house."

They have stopped by a little two-story house, half-rotten picket fence but otherwise a pretty place. There was a guy with a cooler in front selling beer and Skye picked up a couple of bottles.

"What is going on?" Coulson asks, amused by the scene.

There's a woman about his age in a folding table in the middle of the garden, a series of in-house furniture (old sofas, puffy chairs, a big leather couch which has seen better days but it's trying to survive through bits of duct tape here and there). She's handing out sandwiches to a small queue of people lined up in front of him and Skye.

Skye fishes a flyer out of her pocket.

"This happens sometimes and it's great," she says. "Some chefs make an extra buck by cooking out of their porches. Look at this, six dollars and it comes with potato salad."

He lets Skye take care of things and procure their dinners. It doesn't surprise him that she keeps her money-saving inclinations (she can't be making much with the Rising Tide anyway, and after SHIELD fell the paychecks weren't impressive either) but sometimes he resents it too, it reminds him of where he comes from, a reflex so ingrained in his nature that decades of the good life SHIELD was able to give him couldn't erase.

"Come on, take a seat," she urges.

"Here?"

"Don't be a snob."

He sits on the half-ruined leather couch and Skye is completely unapologetic about sitting right next to him, knees touching and looking happy. Coulson prodes at his fried monstruosity, a whole loaf of bread for sure, he can barely make out the shrimp and oyster under the generous amounts of mayonnaise and hot sauce but the flyer assures him that's what they are.

He looks around, other people taking their places on the rest of the haphazardly thrown furniture. The afternoon is coming to an end on orange and blue tones on Skye's hair now as he watches it.

Gardens remind him of childhood too and he doesn't do childhood. Except now he wants to tell Skye stories about that, about his old garden, small with the obligatory tire swing he doesn't remember who put there, and a turtle's grave, and the sound of the neighbor's dog barking at the fence and his mother's face on the window as he played outside.

"Good, uh?" Skye asks.

"Of course. It's seafood fried in gallons of lard, of course it's good," he teases. 

"And it's not very sexy, I know," she adds, licking her fingers of the buttery oil and reaching for the beer she left resting on the grass. He can't say the gesture leaves him cold, though (he's still thinking about her fingers, her hands).

It's not exactly what Coulson had in mind for a date. 

 

+

 

They walk back to the city center.

Which is just as well because Coulson feels guilty after finishing the po-boy and he needs to make sure he is not going to drop dead of a heart attack on their first date.

"Not exactly our _first_ date, though," Skye is arguing.

"No?"

"No. I mean. Poolside? After an heroic rescue. All the LA lights twinkling in the distance. And you gave me half a bar of chocolate. I say that counts as a date."

He remembers. He remembers it like a dream. Sometimes he is not sure it really happened, or that Skye was looking at him in the way he remembers. He has made a lot of excuses for his behavior that night; adrenaline, the rush of grateful relief upon knowing Skye was safe, the liberating vertigo of his whole life being dismantled in front of his eyes. With everything that happened after he had tried very hard to forget what he felt that night. It's reassuring to know Skye was feeling the same.

"I didn't know you were a romantic," he tells her.

"Never could afford it," Skye admits quite candidly. For Skye it is a big step, though, and he knows. She turns around as they walk and stops him, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "Maybe that can change."

And it sounds so horribly hopeful and then she kisses him, in the middle of the street, and it should be awful, with the kind of food they've just eaten, the kind of kiss neither of them are young enough to enjoy, and yet it doesn't bother him, he loves it.

When she pulls away Skye looks content, and that's enough for him. She wraps her arm around his and starts walking more slowly now, leaisurely.

"That was a unique dinner," Coulson says.

"You didn't like it."

"No, I liked it. It just... wasn't what I was expecting."

She stops them again, this time with her hands on his hips.

"I wasn't going to impress you with Michelin star restaurants, you do those already. I wanted to give you something no one else could."

"Why are you trying to impress me?"

She shrugs.

"I know I'm not sophisticated or whatever."

"Skye."

"Coulson. Don't try to deny it. I've seen the kind of girls you're interested in."

"I don't normally go on first dates with people I'm in love with," he tells her.

Her face brightens up a bit.

"So dinner was a bit out of your comfort zone," she says. "Fine. But dessert? Dessert is going to be more your style."

"Dessert, uh?"

He's not this person. He doesn't go around kissing pretty girls on the street. Who is he trying to fool? Skye? Surely not. She's too smart for that. And it's a little too late to fool himself. But he still kisses her, slow and open-mouthed, foolish and shameless.

 

+

 

"Galatoire's? I have heard about this place," he says as they take their seats in the European-decorated restaurant. This is more like it, he thinks, more like what he had in mind when he pictured this evening.

"Told you it was your style."

"What do you mean?"

"Posh."

"It's an acquired taste."

"I've read your file."

"This is nice," he says, not talking about the restaurant.

"What?"

"Just... talking. I've missed it."

But they've never really talked like this before.

He orders a sweet potato cheescake and Skye goes for the more conservative raspberry sorbet. They agree to split a key lime tart too, though Coulson suspects he's going to finish it on his own and Skye only agreed because she knows he has such a sweet tooth. The coffee is good. He is enjoying himself.

"You can start calling me Phil. I think it's a good idea," he tells her.

"Really? I don't know. I mean, I like it. _Phil_ ," she says and he admits it gives him a certain thrill. He couldn't predict this when he first asked her not to call him Phil, several lifetimes ago. Skye still seems unconvinced about it. "It's great. It just feels weird."

"Using my first name feels weirder than having sex with me?" Coulson asks.

"Well, yeah."

He laughs.

 

+

 

When they go out of the street again – Skye wants to take him to hear some live music maybe – there are crowds all over the neighborhood and the night has already started but the temperature is rising, he rolls up his sleeves and grabs Skye by the hips and the street musicians are doing their thing, sweet and slow and he asks Skye what it is but she doesn't know either so she approaches the group and asks them and they tell her it's a version of "Blueberry Hill", whatever that means because Coulson has no idea. They stay a moment among the tourists and the drunks and listen to it and Skye wraps her arms around him and she laughs when he kisses her, or she kisses him – she tastes of raspberry jam and coffee and Coulson knows he can't lie to her.

"Skye, stop."

He grabs her by the elbows and pulls her apart. It hurts to do that. 

"What's wrong?"

"Skye... I'm not this person."

"What do you mean?"

He sighs, going back to his conversation with the mirror and his monologue with his suitcase. He was right then. This is absurd.

"I'm not the man who would do this. I'm not the relaxed guy who eats fry ups on the street and doesn't wear a tie. I'm the Director of a shadow organization and I have alien blood poisoning my system and telling me to write crazy symbols on the walls. As much as I'm loving tonight... this is not who I am. I'm hard work."

"You think I don't know that?" she says, pulling back. "Coulson. I had you giving me the silent treatment for half a year, I know exactly how much hard work you are. This is not me either – you _know_ me, I'm hard work too. I'm either too impulsive or overthinking things. And if we are going to do this you're going to have to put up with a lot of personal crap and demons."

"I can do that."

"You think I don't know there's more to this than easygoing Phil?" Skye says and he almost smiles at the name. "I'm just having some fun. This is not what I want, by the way. I want Agent Coulson and Director Coulson and A.C. and whoever is there in between. Okay?"

He nods. His heart stretches painfully at the casual mention of his old nickname. He has left Skye alone for so long. Maybe she can forgive him but he can't.

"Okay."

Skye doesn't look convinced.

"Look, that dinner, all this? I just want you to relax a bit," she says. "It doesn't have to mean anything other than that, I want you to have a good time. _I_ want to have a good time, with you. It's that simple. Just – _live a little_."

That makes him smile for sure.

"I'll try," he promises.

"Now... Will you let me take you dancing?" she asks.

 

+

 

After Skye takes his cocktail mania seriously and indulges him with a Hurricane in a touristy spot she also fulfills her promise of taking him dancing.

"More relaxed?" she asks.

He makes a moaning noise at that, closing his eyes against her blissful proximity. It's a dark hole in the wall, really, a bit off the beaten path for his taste, and the heat is, at this point, almost unbearable. There are a few other couples in here. And yet he is relaxed. The music is unbearably slow as well, something really sad and broken, and that's just fine by him, content to have Skye holding him like this, their hips moving together and it's a bit like being alone with her, finally.

Skye has her hands on his hips and he has his arms around her shoulders and she is leading, of course she's leading. He thinks he couldn't be more in love with her except each second proves that a misconception. But she has already established that she doesn't do corny – he doesn't have to ask, she probably learned to distrust open displays of affection a long time ago. Skye prefers actions to words.

He rests his chin on her shoulder.

"Don't look so sad," Skye says, running her hand along his back comfortingly.

He can't help it, it spills out of him like blood from an open wound: "I'm not going to see you for two weeks."

"Seven months, Coulson," she says, pushing their foreheads together as she sways them both to – Coulson is pretty sure this time – Ella Fitzgerald. "And I was in love first."

" _You were_?"

"Let me keep my dignity, okay?"

But he wants to know everything about it, every syllable, ever adjective she can come up to describe the ways in which she loves him and she loved him first. How long has she known? Earlier than their "first date"? Like many things it doesn't seem like Skye is ready to tell him just yet. He can wait. 

She kisses him, like she's apologizing for not saying more, for keeping parts of herself in the dark. Beads of sweat roll down her nose and cheeks and when she opens her mouth Coulson tastes salt. He kisses her back, soft and yielding, wanting to know all of her secrets, but only when she wants him to.

 

+

 

He makes himself count to ten since Skye locks the door to her flat before he starts touching her. He doesn't want to act like a fucking adolescent.

One. Two. Three. Four...

"What's you problem?" she says when he's up to _five_ , turning around, dropping her leather jacket on the floor and leaning against the door. "Come here."

She's not interested in letting him have his dignity. Like a fucking adolescent he goes to her, pining her to the door while Skye presses her mouth to his so greedily. His hands clutch at her sides, slipping under the fabric of her blouse to find the scorching hot skin of her back.

"Wait, wait, slow down," she says between kisses.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no," she reassures him he hasn't done anything wrong. "Last night was very... dramatic. I'd like to take things a bit slower this time."

He can do that.

"I think I can do better this time," he tells her, smirking. He doesn't know how to ask her to do that thing she did last night again, where she held his hand as she led him to the bedroom in the dark.

But he doesn't have to ask.

She offers.

She squeezes his hand as they walk down the hallway.

 

+

 

The first thing he does is switch on the lamp. This time he wants to see her.

This time he helps her undress, and he tries to go slow with it. His blood boils but he doesn't listen to it. He's already hard from kissing her against the door like a fucking adolescent and he has to admit maybe this is what is happening here – he is regressing to some earlier point in his life where feeling this was possible. He doesn't remember ever feeling like this before. That's something corny, again, so instead he runs his fingertips along the waistband of Skye's panties, resting his thumb on her belly. Skye shakes when he starts rubbing her through the fabric and suddenly Coulson feels a bit better about his own arousal.

He lifts her by the thighs and places her gently on the bed.

"Strong arms," she comments, hers still around his neck, her legs squeezing his waist trying to get tiny bits of friction.

"I work out," Coulson says.

Her laughter dies when he closes his mouth around her left breast, swirling his tongue across her nipple.

He takes his time. Or as much as he can, given his feverish state, given than he wants to touch her everywhere at the same time, wants to watch her face get flushed and wants to hear every little noise he can tear from her. She arches her body when he drops little, careful kisses along the shape of her scars, and she presses her hips down when he starts fucking her with his tongue. This time he teases her with it, it's not a messy desperate affair like last night. He makes her wait for it, her fingers carefully but firmly pulling at his hair to guide him. He tries to make it last but apparently Skye is too far gone for a slow affair

Her breath is coming in hard gasps now.

He digs his fingernails into her thighs, hard, and by the sounds Skye is making she likes it a lot and he files that information for sometime later. For now he just wants – 

"Come on, Skye. Come for me."

She makes a quiet, struggled noise at the back of her throat and she comes against Coulson's mouth bucking her hips into his touch.

 

+

 

"You got your fun, now's my turn," she says, straddling his waist.

"I had my fun? I thought that was _your_ fun."

She rolls her hips. Oh god she's going to kill him. At this rate he's happy to get a two week rest from this intensity.

(no, he's not; he doesn't want to leave, this is where he wants to be, forever)

"I don't know. You seemed to be having fun," she says with a sheepish grin. "Come here."

He sits up on the bed, cross-legged with Skye on his lap. She holds his shoulders very tightly in her grip, trying to get closer.

He draws a long breath. "Give me a moment here."

"Give me your hand."

He gives her a skeptical look but he offers his hand. Skye grabs his wrist, bringing it to her mouth. She gives his palm a big lick. Coulson is pretty sure he chuckles at that. She narrows her eyes at him like he should be showing more respect and it is sexy, he doesn't deny it, but precisely, it feels weird that it is so arousing. She licks his palm again and Coulson understands what she's doing when she takes his hand and guides it to his cock, pressing her palm against the back of Coulson's hand and curling her fingers. She's showing him how to jack himself off, she is tugging at his hand, already and obediently wrapped around his cock, in slow labored two-handed strokes.

Coulson closes his eyes, lets out a string of profanities as their hands find a rhythm together. 

"See, we might have the opposite problem now," he comments.

Skye kisses him and he can feel everywhere they are touching and they are touching everywhere. There's the sweat from the heat and that disconcerting scent of jasmine. He can feel every detail and he's glad, he wants to commit everything to memory, but he's overwhelmed too and he needs – 

"Skye, I –"

He has promised he'd be better tonight. But maybe he spoke too hastily. He balances Skye on his legs while he stretches to reach the condom.

"Sorry," he says.

Skye smiles. "Finally, _my_ fun," she says, barely giving him time to roll the condom over before she props herself on his shoulders.

And last night _was_ perfect but if there's a word to describe how he feels when Skye sinks into him while he rests his hand on her waist and his mouth slides along her neck, well, Coulson doesn't know that word.

 

+

 

She looks so happy afterwards, lying on her side, naked, face to his face on the pillow. Sheets kicked away and a mess. Everything smells of sweat and sex and night-blooming flowers.

She looks so happy and Coulson can't understand it, it makes no sense.

"I left you alone for so long," he says, smoothing his hand over the curve of her ribs.

"You are here now. Aren't you?"

He can't stop staring at her; her legs alone could drive him crazy, and then there's her hipbone and the pink over dark skin that is the scar on her stomach, her breasts, the hair falling over her chest. He didn't think she was this beautiful the first time he met her. It took him a bit.

"It's not enough," he tells her. How could it be enough? He left her alone. He left _Skye_ alone.

She props herself on one elbow for a moment, shifting on the bed so that they are closer together. 

"Verbal apologies are officially over," she says, reaching out to touch his chest. Coulson has already noticed she likes playing with his chest hair. "Next time you feel guilty about keeping secrets you can go out and buy me a new external hard drive, mine's seen better days."

"I didn't mean just that."

"Stop worrying," she tells him.

He can't. He curls his fingers around her wrist.

"I'm still sick, you know," he says, and it almost feels good to say it out loud. He's been thinking about this all day. "Whatever was happening to me when you left it's still happening to me."

"We'll figure it out. We'll work together on it."

"I might not have much time to give to you," he says, and realizes it's probably his greatest fear.

She frees herself from his grip, but only to bring her hand to his face. She brushes his thumb along the line of his lower lip, very slowly, like she trying to draw him from memory.

"That's a good reason for me to be greedy about whatever it is you want to give me," she says, very seriously.

It frightens him, her bravery. It's not recklessness, and it sure as hell is not fearlessness. She's just willing to take the risk. And her proximity – she's slid towards him on the bed so that now they are almost touching – just reminds Coulson.

"I might be dangerous," he says. "I might... harm you."

"Coulson..." she starts.

"Phil?"

"No, Coulson, too," she demands. "These were the reasons you gave me when you lied to me. I'm not going to take them as reasons for... you not loving me."

He grabs her head with one hand. Suddenly Skye seems smaller than usual and he is still thinking about the possibility of whatever is inside him, inside the both of them and in his head, might hurt her. Even now, lying on her bed, the truth is this is not safe at all. This is risky, even something that should just be sweet and mundane – for them it's something else.

"I could never give you something normal," he tells her.

"Last time I wanted _something normal_ I was eleven. Don't worry about me. And even without this I'd still be an 084. I'm sorry I can't give _you_ something normal. Because I know that's what you want."

"I was only stupid enough to wish for something normal because I didn't know I could have this. Can I really have this?"

"It's not like you to be insecure."

"Well, whoever I was it has taken a beat in the last seven months. I'm not so sure what's like me anymore."

"That's another thing for us to figure out. Together. I'm not the same person either."

Coulson can't help but smile at her; if she knew how much the person she has become – 

"Yes, you've changed too," he says and though he is still afraid that this is dangerous and is not enough and could never be enough he kisses her anyway.

 

+

 

They don't say much on the way to the airport the next morning.

He leans back on the seat and just watches her face as she drives. Skye notices and a couple of times she bites her lips, wanting to say something maybe, but she keeps quiet too, she lets him watch her.

"You're keeping my sunglasses," he points out.

"I'll give them back in a couple of weeks. Consider them payment for letting you stay in my house."

The wicked smile she gives him at that is almost enough to make up for the fact that they didn't have much time to linger this morning. He would have wanted a couple more hours in her kitchen with the awful chicory coffee and holding hands over the table. The thing in the shower was nice, though, he must confess. He wouldn't mind that again, even without the hurry.

"I think this is the first time a woman has ever driven me to the airport," he tells Skye. "Seems like a cliche."

"I bet you didn't imagine it was going to be in a tactical van."

He throws a look over his shoulder to the equipment behind the seats. No, this part is not cliched, that's for sure. 

"This is the first time I drive someone to the airport, too," Skye says. "It's nice. Romantic. Except that I don't really want you to leave."

It's simple but it's touching.

When they get near the boarding gates, after they have had a long chat about technicalities, Skye begins to seem uneasy. They got here too soon, he feels. And the idea of facing the team - if Trip hasn't talked already the team is going to just be able to see it on Coulson's face anyway, before he can explain.

"I'll call you when I get there," he promises, because at least he needs to know he will get to hear her voice. No wonder he has been such a wrecked for seven months. Seven months without her voice. How did he do it without going crazy? Maybe he did go crazy.

"Yeah, that would be nice."

"I'll call you everyday."

Skye makes a face. "Needy, aren't we," she teases.

And he knows she is just teasing – she said she loved him – but still.

"Please, Skye."

She nods, running her fingers over his tie, touching the lapel of his very dark suit.

"Try not to get killed by HYDRA in the meantime," she tells him.

He brushes his thumb against the blackened spot on her cheek, for a moment, and she leans into the touch, hungry for it, for a moment. "Same to you."

Skye shrugs, and does the thing where she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's nervous.

"So I guess you're not this guy, either. The guy who kisses girls in airports to say good bye."

She's basically asking him to kiss her.

Coulson _definitely_ is not that guy, the guy who kisses pretty girls in airports.

But he takes Skye's face in his hands and his hands are trembling a bit but he kisses her anyway.


End file.
